


Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers

by theoneinquisitor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Bellarke - Modern AU, But with reason, Exes, I hope you like angst, Multi, and emotions and shit, anyways just lots of tropes, basically every trope i could think of, because like clarke is gonna be real emotional, past relationship, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: After a tough year, Clarke thinks what's she needs is a summer fling. Bellamy Blake hands it to her on a silver platter. Except life happens and things get complicated and somehow they find themselves trying to work through it on the road (An exes/roadtrip AU).or, the one where Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin fall in love at the wrong time and four years later they finally talk about it on the longest road trip of their life.





	1. we have scars to cover

**Author's Note:**

> so a long time ago in a galaxy far away @whyclarke (tumblr) sent me a prompt asking for an exes roadtrip au. here we are, 60k words later with the longest supposed to be oneshot to ever exist. basically, things go away from me and i'm sorry it took so long. 
> 
> a special thinks to jasmine (pensieve-foryour-thoughts.tumblr.com) for beta'ing for me! she's been a lifesaver! 
> 
> lastly, this is my first attempt at anything remotely smutty so...keep that in mind.

**_part  i. we have scars to cover_ **

****

**May 2013**

When Clarke Griffin imagines how she thought her senior year of high school would go, she didn’t imagine it would begin with a severe back injury and losing her best friend. She didn’t imagine it would be filled with whispers in the hallway about how it was actually her fault, that if she hadn’t gotten shit faced drunk at a party, walked in on her boyfriend with his face between another girl’s legs, and called him to come get her, Wells Jaha would have been alive to walk across the stage and receive his high school diploma. He would be well on his way to Stanford to become the best lawyer in the United States. According to the same whispers in the hallway, she took that all away.

****

It took her a majority of the year to realize Wells’ death hadn’t been her fault, it was just the wrong place at the wrong time. It took some therapy, some nights spent in the sheets with whoever she could find that was willing (girls, boys, she learned a long time ago she didn’t care), and  even more nights spent curled into her father's side, broken and afraid of the world. But she’s coping, or she’s trying, at least. In the fall she’ll be heading to Northwestern for her freshman year of college and to her, it’s a new beginning. It’s a new life.

****

Needless to say, the last thing she wants to do is spend her summer with her mother. Abigail Griffin is many things -- renowned surgeon, respected researcher, and benefactor to multiple non-profit organizations (though, Clarke knows this is more for image than for actually caring). Being a good mom? That’s not exactly in the same category. In fact, motherly skills is not something she could put on her list of accomplishments. Her parents divorced when she was ten years old, though it hadn’t come as a surprise. As far as Clarke is concerned, she was raised by her father. Her mom had spent countless hours at work, out of town for research shit and conferences and whatever else she could do to stay busy. Eventually, she decided to stay gone altogether. She moved to Boston, taking some prestigious job in a research center hoping to one day cure paralysis. Clarke and her dad stayed in Arkadia, the small town on the outskirts of Maryland. She had been fine with this arrangement.

****

But Jake Griffin ensured his daughter maintained some relationship with her mother, whether (it) be agreed visits over breaks or forced phone calls between the two of them to check in. She never liked them much, but it made her dad happy, so she would suffer on his behalf. Which is exactly how she finds herself in this predicament: currently standing in the middle of downtown Boston, lost and sweating her ass off. All because she loves her father.

****

“You need to get away from here,” he told her late last week, “And I know you’re going to Chicago in the fall, but it’s important for you to spend time with your mom.”

****

She had all but kicked and screamed to get out of it, though when asked she couldn’t provide any concrete reason not to go. She had learned to hate Arkadia and everyone in it, and she felt Wells’ ghost follow her everywhere she went, like some sort of reminder that she made it and he didn’t so she should be grateful. It’s the worst kind of haunted. She let him convince her, and in a moment of weakness, got on the plane.

****

She regrets it(coming to Boston), especially now that she’s become lost and is exactly the kind of person to refuse directions from anyone. When she arrived, her mom had been just as awkward as expected, but she has to give her credit for trying. She took the day off to show her around the city, give her a tour of the local hotspots and entertainment within walking distance. It turns out there are a lot of things within walking distance as her mom’s condo is located in the heart of Midtown. She isn’t surprised- Being a doctor means having money. Being a good doctor who is very well-known and respected? It means more having money than absolutely necessary. She can’t complain, she supposes. Her mom is at least paying for college. Some fucked up penance for child support over the years.

****

Their reunion had been short lived. The day after she arrived, Dr. Griffin had to go back to work and she’s only caught glimpses of her since. It’s been a whole week and she’s already to go the fuck home. She huffs in frustration as she turns the map in her hands again, trying to pinpoint exactly where she is. Realizing she just isn’t cut out for topography, she stuffs the map into her backpack and pulls out her phone, typing the nearest address into Google maps and finding her location. It’s a ten minute walk from the condo to her spot. 

****

She’s making an effort to be active, even when all she wants to do is lie on her mom’s expensive sofa and binge watch Netflix on the big screen. That’s what she had done her first three days alone, wallowing in her own misery and silently cursing her father for putting this on her. But then she realized this is the first time she’s had true freedom and who the hell is she to sit around and waste it?

****

She checks out some of the local shops and galleries, feeling a particular pull to the small art studios. When she walks in, often times she’s ignored by the owner. They are, no doubt, pegging her to be some disruptive teen pretending to be a know it all for the sake of being pretentious. She feels a particular satisfaction when she asks the artist about their pieces and goes into a deep discussion of the technique and well-meaning behind them. She manages to walk away with invitations to local art shows and even the number of one of the shop owners. His name is Nyko, and she’s almost positive he was hitting on her. She’s also almost positive he’s in his thirties. 

****

She stuffs the phone number into the back pocket of her jeans without a second thought and continues her journey around the city. She doesn’t get far before her stomach begins to growl aggressively. She tries to Google restaurants around the area, but decides instead to try out one of the food trucks parked on the curb. She finds one advertising a messy looking sandwich, filled with cheese and onions and her mouth practically drools. She steps up to the counter and orders. They prepare it fairly quickly and when she steps to the side to enjoy the Boston-take on the Philly Cheese Steak, she notices the looming building across the street.

****

Architecturally, it’s gorgeous, with ancient brick and large arched glass windows. Engraved at the top is: “Library of the City of Boston Built by the People and Dedicated to the Advancement of Learning”. It reminds her of something out of the Harry Potter books, if only for it’s long descriptive title It could have said Public Library and had the same effect.. She remembers hearing her mom mention the library to her in passing,  saying she would bring her here to show her around and perhaps give her an early start on pre-med books. She had been less than excited about it. But now, as she stands outside without her mom, it actually seems quite interesting.

****

When walks in, she understands why it has such a fancy title. The inside is something out of a regency period novel, perhaps even something out of a castle in kingdoms long ago. A soft, sand colored marble graces the floors and the walls, shining brightly as though they had just been polished. The ceiling arches over them, engraved with elegant designs and paints. Pillars are placed sporadically through the entrance hall, making it seem more daunting than anything. She runs her hands along the walls, where art flows freely around and up the stairs. She moves between galleries, admiring their respective themes and Googling any piece that seems unfamiliar. She likes knowing artists- It’s kind of her thing.

****

She isn’t sure how long she spends gazing at all the pieces, recognizing some from her high school art history classes and others from her dad’s old art books. She’s completely zoned out when someone startles her.

****

“This panel represents epic poetry,” a deep voice says from behind her, “it represents Homer, the author of The Iliad and The Odyssey. They’re crowning him.”

****

She turns to snap at the person who had taken it upon himself to pretentiously explain the art piece to her, but stops when she sees a nameplate, gold plated and bold name, staring back at her. She pauses, taking a good look at the owner of said nametag and notes he can’t be much older than her. Based on the BU  hoodie he has paired with his well-ironed khakis, he’s a college student. And he works here.

****

He nods at the painting, “It’s by an artist named ---”

****

“Puvis de Chavannes,” she finishes for him, “I know.”

****

It comes out a little sharper than she intends, but he seems not to mind. Instead, he moves to stand next to her and pulls her attention back to the other panels, “So, I’m assuming I don’t need to explain these to you, either?”

****

He’s looking at her with a crooked smile and renewed interest. He had clearly not been expecting her to know. It isn’t common pop culture knowledge by any means. She takes a good look at him, admiring the freckles that pepper his nose and the way his dark hair is all chaos in curls. When she locks eyes with him, dark, chocolate orbs, gleaming with something that almost looks like excitement. Like he truly enjoys talking about art history. She decides to humor him.

****

“No,” she says finally, “But I guess it’s your job to explain it to me, so go ahead.”

****

He laughs, and she finds she likes the way it sounds. It’s deep, rich, and sends a small tingle up her spine.

He then launches into a grandiose explanation of the rest of the panels, talking passionately with his hands about each piece and their historical significance. She finds it’s refreshing to  hear someone talk so passionately about art. She counters him a few times, telling him the correct facts about the artist and their techniques in painting it.  By the end of it she’s almost criticizing the pieces and he immediately becomes offended.

****

“Back then, this technique was popular!” he says in disbelief, “The lines are beautiful.”

****

She shrugs, “I don’t know...I just don’t think he captured the true emotion of the time, though.”

****

Bellamy scoffs, “I don’t think emotion is what he was going for. He was just recording history!”

****

She can’t hold in her laugh at the way he seems so offended by her opinion and this seems to soften him up a little bit.

****

She shakes her head at him, “I guess you’re the expert, huh?”

****

He gives her a mischievous grin before backing away from her slowly. It’s then she notices an abandoned cart full of books a few feet away. He grabs it and pushes it towards her, stopping when he’s next to her again, “I’m just the guy who puts away books.”

****

She nods, like it was the most obvious thing in the world (even though he had definitely convinced her he was the art guy), “Right. Next time I’ll be sure to find the actual art expert.”

****

He shrugs his shoulders and begins to push the cart away, but not without the last word, “Well, if you don’t want to be bored to tears, I’m here Monday through Friday...”

****

“I’ll keep that in mind…” she makes a show of squinting as his nametag, “Bellamy.”

****

“I’ll be sure to warn the so-called art experts about you…”

****

“Clarke.” she fills in for him.

****

“See you around then, Clarke.”

****

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he rolls away, leaving her thinking she might just have to visit the library on a regular basis. For the art, of course.

****

*

****

She falls into an easy routine. Her mom shows no signs of slowing down at work and she has eaten dinner more times alone than she would have liked. She can’t help but be a little perturbed by the whole thing. She had come to Boston with relatively low expectations  but even so, she can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. To compensate for her mother’s lack of interest in hanging out with her daughter, Clarke has made it a goal to go out and at least try to have fun for the summer. Her dad had sent her here for a reason, whether it be to simply get away from her shit town or for her to find some way to fully heal and move on with her life. Somehow, she knows it was probably for both of those reasons.

****

Her routine begins with a morning walk around the neighborhood; she stops at the bakery to grab a cup of coffee and continues walking, mostly to people watch. She finds it  quite entertaining. Post cup of coffee, she’ll walk to the park and sketch. Drawing has always been her best outlet, the thing to keep her sane even when she felt the furthest thing from it. Over the months, she’s filled more sketchpads than ever in her entire life and though it didn’t cure her, it definitely helped. Her mom calls it a hobby, but it’s always felt like more than that. She gets lost and pours her soul into it.

****

Sketching will keep her busy until the afternoon at least. She’ll walk home, grab some food, and shower. Then, she’ll make her way back to the library to simply read. Something about it makes her feels safe. It gives her something to pass the time and their collection of old literature piled with old biology and anatomy records is quite interesting. Admittedly, during the hours she spends there, she checks out the book cart guy, Bellamy, while she’s there. She doesn’t see him everyday but when she does, it’s usually when he passes by her table, a squeaking cart in tow, and he comments on something she’s reading or offers a fun fact about one of the million art pieces located around the gallery. They’ll talk briefly and then he’ll bid her goodbye and move right on along.

****

When she talks to her friend, Raven, she can practically hear the girl roll her eyes through the phone, “Jesus, you would be the one to do some weird, artsy flirting with a librarian.”

****

Raven is a spitfire, part of what draws Clarke to her. She had been devastated to find out her boyfriend had been dating someone else at the same time (though, Clarke was the actual side chick), but it led her to Raven Reyes and she is actually pretty fucking grateful for that.

****

“I didn’t come all the way here to date,” she argued, “I’m not emotionally ready for that.”

****

“Well, at least make some friends while you’re there. You could use them.” Always count on Raven to put things in blunt perspective. It’s a blessing and a curse.

****

She isn’t sure how to make friends. Right now, Bellamy is the closes thing she has and she has no idea how to push that mere acquaintanceship into friend territory. Does she ask him to hang out? It seems like that could easily be misconstrued into a date, which is definitely not what she wants to happen. Though, she could probably make it clear that she only wants to be friends. She’s never been good at this stuff. Wells was always the more popular one of the two of them. She had just always been part of the deal with him.She doesn’t have to overthink it much more because as luck would have it, Bellamy makes the first effort.

****

She’s buried deep into an old anatomy book when she hears him clear his throat,“You do realize it's nine p.m on a Friday night and you're sitting in a library?”

****

She looks up from her book to find him leaning against her table, collar of his library issued polo unbuttoned and name tag missing. Off the clock, she assumes.

****

“I suppose there are better things to do?” she crosses her hands over the book she had been engrossed in and smiles sarcastically. There are probably a million things she could do that would be more appeasing than reading books about the human body, but going home to an empty house is not one of those. She doesn’t do well with silence and emptiness. That’s when her thoughts become the loudest.

****

He shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Probably. I was about to meet some friends for a drink.”

****

She leans back and shuts the book with an aggressive thud before grabbing her bag off the back of her chair, “A nerd like you has friends? I figured you spent your free time talking to yourself about all the inaccuracies of the Hercules cartoon.”

****

He laughs at her dig, “I save that for weekdays.”

****

“Mmm, of course.”

****

She slings the bag over her shoulders and stands there awkwardly, fiddling with the straps. She wonders if he is actually trying to ask her to come out with him or if he’s just telling her his plans for the night. When the pause becomes a bit too overwhelming, she starts for the door.

****

“You in?” he asks, falling into step behind her.

****

She skids to a halt, her Keds making an uncomfortable screech against the polished marble. He stops too, eyebrow quirked, “Or not?”

****

She considers him for a moment. She's known him for a solid two weeks now. Granted, their relationship extends as far as first name basis and artistic opinions. But, it’s not like she has any other options available. It beats spending all night in an old ass library  (even if it is beautiful).

****

“Sounds great,” she finally answers. Raven would definitely tell her to go. Plus, she wants something to occupy here time. It’ll be good for her, too, to put herself out there. He’s fairly cute. Win-win.

****

She follows him out of the library, where he immediately untucks his shirt and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls into their natural chaotic look. All professionalism vanished from sight. The disheveled look works for him, she decides.

****

“So,” he says as they fall into step together, “What's your story?”

****

She tries to hide how uncomfortable that question makes her. She’s never been one to talk about herself, but now it’s become especially difficult. She decides to take a more sarcastic route.

****

“Oh, you want my biography?”

****

He shrugs, “Just the basics. So I know you aren't plotting to kill me or something.”

****

“Says the guy who lured me out of the library after dark,” she counters.

****

He doesn't respond and she takes that to mean he's waiting for an answer. She decides he probably isn’t a serial killer. Mostly because she just doesn’t get that vibe from him and she thinks she has a good judge of character. Plus, they’re on a well lit street so if he tries something, she should be able to escape pretty easily. She has a mace.

****

“Visiting for the summer,” she tells him finally, “Divorced parents. Different cities. Nothing crazy.”

****

“So that explains why you hang it out in a library for fun.”

****

“It's close and free.”

****

“Fair enough,” he concedes. She takes it as her opportunity to question him.

****

“And you?” she probes, desperate to take the attention off her, but also curious to learn about the mysterious librarian once he’s no longer in the library.

****

He seems to think about his answer carefully, “I live here full time. I go to BU. The library is a summer gig. My professor hooked me up.”

****

So he’s a student. It makes sense; It explains all the random history knowledge he seems to have stored in his brain and also the fact that he actually seems to enjoy working in the library. She doesn’t know many people this age who would find joy working in a place like that (though, she is part of the minority along with him.).

****

“Let me guess,” she taps her chin with her finger, “History major?”

****

Predictable.

****

He feigns shock at her assumption, “How did you know?”

****

She laughs and finds herself feeling more comfortable around him. He’s a bit intimidating, with his sharp wit and rugged good looks. She had planned to just admire him from a distance, which definitely sounds creepy but it isn’t. She figured he’d remain an anomaly she told Raven about -- just the cute guy in the library.  She hadn't thought they’d actually speak. She definitely expect him to ask her out, or well, whatever it is they’re doing.

****

“How about you?” he breaks her from her thoughts, “What's your major?”

****

She almost tells him she hasn't declared since she's only just starting. But then she doesn't because he's taking her out to, presumably, a bar and her ID says that she’s 21. Not that she has any interest in drinking, but she also doesn’t want miss out on this opportunity. This trip is about expanding comfort zones and putting herself back out there, at least, that’s what Raven told her to use it for.

****

“Pre-med,” is what she finally settles on. He lets out a low whistle.

****

“That explains all the anatomy books you've been checking out,” he says passively and she stops again, narrowing her eyes at him.

****

“Have you been stalking my check out record?”

****

He turns to face her, “Someone’s flattering themselves. You realize I can see what you’re reading when I pass by your table.”

****

“So you’re just creepy from afar then?”

****

“I think you’re projecting,” he scoffs, “Don’t act like you had any intention of coming back there until I so eloquently explained those art pieces to you.”

****

She finds herself having to bite back a smile, their banter coming quick and naturally. She’s already having fun, “I’m not the one that goes out of the way to walk by your table.”

****

He laughs at that, holding his hands up in surrender, “Fine. You caught me. I was trying to be smooth.”

****

“And why is that?”

****

He stops them in front of, what she can only presume to be, the bar they’re meeting his friends at. It’s got an old-time feel to it, with a sign hanging above a chipping wooden door. She can faintly hear music thumping from behind it.

****

“Cute girl who knows history?” he offers and this time she doesn’t bother to hold back her smile.

****

He doesn't give her a chance to respond and she's somewhat thankful because she isn't sure what to say. He pulls open the door and gestures for her to enter first. She mumbles a quick thank you.

****

The bar turns out to be an old pub. The Ark, it's called. It's cozy, reminiscent of the ones you'd see on a modern sitcom. Full of hipsters and draft beer choices. Every day of the week holding a special event: Trivia on Wednesdays, Karaoke on Thursdays and Fridays,live music on Saturdays. She can't say she's surprised.

****

She follows him over to a booth in the back where he is greeted warmly by a group of people, who are seemingly already a bit tipsy.

****

“Everyone, this is Clarke,” he announces, “She was reading biology books in the library for  _ fun.” _

****

_ “Anatomy,”  _ she corrects without thinking. Her cheeks grow red when she does.  _ Smooth. _

****

She's met by choruses of ‘Hi Clarke!’ and ‘We love nerds.” which makes her feel slightly better about the whole thing. He pulls up a couple of chairs from a nearby table and she plops down next to him. She’s trying not to be awkward, but damn if it doesn’t come naturally. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and shoots a quick text to Raven.

****

Clarke: “I’m socializing. You should be proud of me.”

****

Raven: “Bloom, my beautiful flower”.

****

She giggles and stuffs her phone into her backpack. She wouldn’t say she’s an introvert by any means, but meeting new people has always been an awkward experience for her. She never really knows how to start. Luckily, Bellamy seems to sense her discomfort and introduces them one by one.

****

“That’s Miller,” he points at a scruffy guy currently sporting a beanie despite it being summer, “My roommate and a total dick.”

****

The guy, Miller, glares at his friend before extending a hand, “Nice to meet you. Also, he’s projecting his own insecurities onto me. He is the actual dick in the relationship.”

****

She smiles at that. The others get similar introductions: Harper, the peppy blonde, Gina, the kick ass bartender, Murphy, the kindest asshole she’ll ever meet, and Emori, the asshole’s equally asshole-y girlfriend (in a loving way).

****

“Bellamy, do you have a radar for finding lost souls?” Harper nudges him on the shoulder playfully.

****

“You know, I’d be careful,” Murphy comments, “With the way you target young, attractive, lonely people, you might start coming off like a serial killer.”

****

She decides to give the whole being friendly thing a go. She pipes in, “I definitely got serial killer vibes.”

****

Bellamy gives her a faux wounded look while the others laugh, “Don’t feed into it!”

****

She smirks back but finds herself questioning, “Does this happen often?”

****

“God, yes,” Miller groans. And that’s how they spend the next hour, trading each other’s stories about how they met Bellamy. Miller is the original friend (or OF as he calls it), having been friends with him since high school. They met after Miller had been subject to severe bullying when other kids found out he was into guys.

****

“Talk about fragile masculinity,” Miller rolls his eyes as he recounts the story, “Anyways, Bellamy here so valiantly defended my honor and punched one of the guys on the football team for using some pretty nasty slurs.”

****

“We spent the rest of high school as the mystery couple,” Bellamy confirms, “Some people figured he was my boyfriend and that’s why I got mad.”

****

“Best fake boyfriend ever,” Miller tilts his beer into the air and takes a long sip. Gina goes next, explaining that she had come to this bar, to drink her pain away after suffering a pretty nasty breakup. Bellamy forced her to sing karaoke and made sure she got home safely. They ended up dating for almost a month before both realized the romantic chemistry wasn’t there and stayed friends.

****

“You’re not a good real boyfriend,” Gina pats him on the shoulder, “But you’ll make a good mom.”

****

“Mother hen, Bellamy,” Murphy agrees, and launches into his hilariously unexciting story about how he had been the brooding freshman in their biology lab and after a long and painful semester of being forced to work together, Bellamy had ensured that Murphy passed Biology with flying colors. Though Murphy does seem to be the most cynical of the group, he does seem appreciative of his friend.

****

Harper is the last to go, “This is going to sound like some bad college PSA, but I got drunk at a frat party and I guess some douche tried to slip something in my drink while I wasn’t looking. I’m sure you can guess what happened.”

****

“He saved the day?” she asks, watching Bellamy with curiosity. His cheeks are glowing red, seemingly embarrassed by the sudden revelation of all the good deeds he’s ever done.

****

“He saved the fucking day,” Harper confirms, “Launched the guy right out of his own Frat house and called me an Uber to get back to the dorm.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you have a savior complex?” she concludes. He chugs at least half of his beer he had poured from the table’s pitcher, smacking his lips at the end.

****

“Sure,” he responds shortly, and she watches something like annoyance pass through his eyes. Before she can think further into it, Miller seems to notice the slight exchange and changes the subject.

****

“So, you read anatomy books for fun?” The conversation flows easily after that, and she realizes this is the first time she’s truly had fun in a while.

****

“I had just watched Mary Poppins for the first time!” she’s defending herself, hours later, and the group laughs at her sheer idiocy. By the end of it, she nearly forgets they had all been strangers when she walks through the doors. She thinks making friends may not be a lost cause after all.

****

“Can we keep her?” Gina asks Bellamy as they all pack up to leave for the night. She pretends not to hear, fiddling with her backpack like she’s searching for something.

****

She has to keep herself from grinning when she hears his response.

****

“Definitely.”

****

*

****

“We’re going out for Gina’s birthday tonight.”

****

She is currently helping Bellamy sift through the return cart, reshelving the books in their appropriate sections. They have been working diligently for the last couple of hours and the cart seems to finally dwindling down. Over the last couple weeks, since Bellamy took her to meet his friends, they’ve managed to make a smooth transition into friendly territory. When she stopped by the library the next day, he sat with her on his break and they bickered over the value of reading medical books from the 1940s when medicine has made such big strides since then.

****

After that, it sort of became a part of the day.. He’d come over for breaks and they would chat, sometimes about the weather and other times about the meaning of life (he had been skimming the philosophy section on those particular days). She preferred keeping conversations light, away from personal territory.  The closest they had gotten is when they were in the theatre section placing the mere two returns for it, she mentioned that her ex-girlfriend’s favorite play had been Othello.

****

“I’m bi,” she had essentially word vomited, though he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t even hinted at wanting to know her sexuality but she threw it at him anyways.

****

“Sorry,” she apologized, blush creeping into skin, “You didn’t ask.”

****

She expected him to just shrug it off and go on with the day. She had been surprised when he had offered a sympathetic smile and told her very nonchalantly that he also identifies as bi.

****

“You know, in case you ever wanna talk about,” he added. It’s not much in the way of revealing deeply personal things, but it makes her acutely aware that she’s struggling to keep him at arm's reach. That feeling bubbles up on occasion and when she’d begin to feel as if the conversation was turning too serious, too personal, she’d excused herself to the restroom or rapidly direct them back into the safe zone.

****

It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that she had offered to help with his work. He had passed by to let her know he was going to work through his break, a very cluttered cart being pulled behind him. He looked like he had been hard at work, his cheeks flush and curls sticking to the sweat beading on his forehead. She isn’t sure what possessed her to offer, but she shut her own book and followed him into the stacks to ask for the rundown on how to shelve them.

****

“You don’t have to help me with my job, Clarke,” was his first response, but she had shushed him and repeated her questions. With a defeated sigh, he reluctantly explained the catalog system and the shelving etiquette.

****

She’s currently shoving three copies of  _ Fifty Shades of Grey  _ onto the shelf with a smidge of aggressiveness.

****

“Can you believe people really read this shit?” she muses aloud, completely missing his previous statement. She likes erotica as much as the next person but that? (It’s )A monstrosity.

****

“Believe it or not, some people don’t care to read academically all the time,” he jokes and she gives him the finger in return.

****

“I was reading a regular book, earlier,” she argues and he rolls his eyes, pushing another book onto the shelf.

****

“I would consider trying to read any part of  _ Infinite Jest  _ academic reading as well.”

****

“There’s just no winning with you is there?”

****

“Nope,” he pops his lips dramatically on the word, “But as I was saying, you should come out with everyone tonight.”

She’s been out with the group a handful of times now. She was given a trial run on the trivia team, and as luck would have it, they scored first thanks to her unmatched knowledge on the human body. They had quickly extended a permanent invite to their savior. She accompanied Bellamy from the library to their usual weekend outings, whether it be to a movie or to the Ark just to hang out. She fits in well with them. Even Harper has made an effort to hang out with her, solo. They exchanged numbers and have gotten coffee a couple of times, Harper joining her on her morning walks. She finds that she really likes the girl, her positivity a much needed change in her life.She really is trying.

****

“Oh, should I?” she responds with a quirked eyebrow.

****

“I’m sure you have better things to do,” he says sarcastically. Of course, he knows she doesn’t. Hell, she’s made it pretty damn obvious by the amount of time she chooses to spend with him at the library. She even volunteered to help him work.

****

“I might,” she twists one of her blonde curls idly between her fingers, looking at him innocently enough.

****

He rolls his eyes, “Well, when you inevitably get bored doing whatever it is, you can meet me here at ten. Wear something nice.”

****

She doesn’t respond but he seems okay with that. They continue placing books side by side and she decides to take off once they finish. She begins to feel the familiar dull ache of her back and knows she should go home and take a hot bath and restJust as she’s pushing the door open, she hears him call behind her.

****

“See you at ten!”

****

*

****

She shows up at 945. She’s sitting on the stairs when he walks out, running a hand through his curls, no doubt to recreate the messy bed head look he’s learned to perfect. When he sees her, he shakes his ruefully.

****

“Shut up,” she grumbles before standing up. She swears she sees his eyes slide down her body, but he turns away quickly to cover it up. In his defense, she does look good. She hadn’t been intending to dress to the nines, but when she had called Raven for advice she had been fully advocating for the tightest pair of jeans she owns and the most revealing top. She settled somewhere in the middle, going for the jeans, but opting for a loose fitting, off the-shoulder blouse.  

****

“Finished the all important task you were doing then?” He says instead as they descend the stairs on their way to...wherever the hell they’re going. She assumes it's not to the usual bar. He would have never told her to dress her up. She’s certain she’s seen people dressed in pajamas sitting at the bar which she is totally fan of.

****

“Yeah, I managed to pencil this into my busy schedule.”

****

“Oh, I'm so glad you made time for us peasants, Princess,” he tells her sarcastically  and she shoves him playfully on the shoulder. Another new element to their relationship -- playful touches.

****

“I try to be kind royalty,” she smiles before changing the subject, “So where are you dragging me, anyways?”

****

He scoffs, “Dragging, is that what I'm doing?”

****

She gives him a pointed stare.

****

“Gina likes going to more...I don't know how to describe it. Club-y type places?” his voice rises at the end.

****

“Like the ones with the obnoxious music and douchebags wearing polos?”

****

He snaps his fingers, “Those are the one.”

****

Her mouth twitches, “I guess you'll fit right in.”

****

It takes her statement a moment to catch and then he realizes that he is, in fact, wearing a polo. And khakis.

****

“Miller is bringing me an extra shirt, thank you very much.”

****

They arrive at a place called Ground Bar. She can hear the music as they approach the doors, the windows vibrating with every bass drop. She can say, for certain, she’s never been to this kind of place before. She assumes it’s the sort place exclusive to big cities, not towns like Arkadia. The closest thing she had come to had been her Junior Prom.

****

“Oh this kind of music,” she remarks. She doesn't hate EDM.  She has a few songs on her jogging playlist. But she can practically feel the migraine coming on. It’s then she realizes she has no idea how to do this.

****

“Yeah,” he agrees to her insinuation before pulling out his wallet, “Ready to sweat your ass off and pay ridiculous drink prices?”

****

As if to answer, she pulls her shirt down a little further, revealing a small bit of her cleavage, “I’m ready to make other people pay ridiculous drink prices, if that's what you mean.”

****

She watches him try to avoid looking, though she can tell he wants to. Maybe she's teasing him a little bit, but it's fun. Just fun.

****

“That's not fair,” he mutters.

****

When they enter the club, they manage to spot their group of friends crowded around one of the standing tables, clinking glasses and shouting into the void.

****

“You made it!” Gina yells, clearly already having had a couple of drinks. She throws her arms around Bellamy, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

****

He doesn't seemed fazed by it, instead laughing and turning to the rest of the group, “Really? You started her off with tequila?”

****

Gina turns to her and throws her arms around her neck, causing her to stumble back slightly. She slurs something about being happy she made it and she can’t help but smile back, feeling genuinely complimented that the girl actually wanted her to be a part of it.

****

“Happy birthday!” she yells over the thumping music.

****

Clarke settles in next to Harper, who is still mostly sober. The blonde greets her with an enthusiastic half-hug, “You look great!”

****

She tugs on her hair self-consciously, the curls already beginning to frizz in the humidity of the bar. She had put a little product in it, in the hopes it would stay relatively tame. She can tell it was a failed attempt. She returns Harper’s compliments, commenting on the dress she picked out. It’s a tight fitting black dress that reaches to mid-thigh and hugs her fit figure in all the right spots. She’s paired it with a pair of blue heels and she tosses her long, blonde hair over her shoulder to model for her. She laughs at the girls antics before turning her attention back to the table. Somewhere in the midst of their greetings, he’s managed to change into a more comfortable looking t-shirt. It’s just a simple dark blue shirt, but it compliments him.

****

He sneaks off to the bar and she listens intently as Gina starts rambling on about the asshole she had been seeing that won’t call her back.

****

“I’m a great catch,” she slurs, leaning into Miller’s shoulder.

****

“Yes, you are.” he reassures with a pat on her shoulder.

****

“Maybe...” Gina’s voice lowers as she pulls her head in towards the group, “Maybe I’m an awful hookup.”

****

The group attempts to soothe her, even Emori offering a half-hearted, “No, I’m sure you’re great.”

****

When Bellamy makes his way back to the table, sipping from his overflowing beer, she proceeds to bombard him.

****

“Be honest!” Gina jabs his chest with her index finger, “Was I bad in bed?”

****

Clarke finds herself having to purse her lips to suppress a laugh. He looks completely blindsided by the question. More than that, very much unsure of how to answer. His gaze finds hers and she jerks her head towards Gina. The girl is waiting for an answer.

****

“No!” and she has to give him credit, whether he believes she is or not, his answer seems to brighten her up.

****

“It’s him then,” she concludes, smacking her palm on the table and rattling their drinks, “He did weird things with his tongue.”

****

“That’s why girls are better,” Harper offers and Clarke can’t help but high five her on that one. In her experience, girls are more self-aware of what they’re doing. And more apt to take direction.

****

This launches everyone into the great debate and Harper announces she needs a drink. Clarke decides to follow her to the bar, if only to get away from the drunken attempt at figuring out who’s better at sex. In all honesty, she’s a firm believer that gender has nothing to do with sexual prowess. It’s definitely based on the person, at least, that’s been her experience.

****

Harper takes her hand and guides her through the crowd and she finds herself having to squeeze in between bodies and having to take a couple of elbows to the boob in the process. Somehow they manage to squeeze into an open spot at the bar and Harper flags down the bartender. She orders a gin and tonic before turning to her.

****

“Clarke!” she yells to get her attention, “What do you want?”

****

This is where she didn’t think it through. She doesn’t drink. Not anymore. The whole idea of it makes her sick to her stomach, no doubt residual guilt eating away at her when she even contemplates picking up a drink. Every time she’s gone out with them, thus far, she’s ordered her own drinks at the bar. Usually a coke or a red bull. People just assume they’re alcoholic and she doesn’t feel like correcting them. As for now, she could just order a coke. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. But instead she decides to take the safer route, the one that won’t end in a potential interrogation.

****

“Bourbon and coke,” she announces. From behind Harper, she watches a greasy looking man admires her ass as she leans over the bar and then turns his eyes on her. He’s definitely older than them, probably in his forties. His beard is hinting at gray and he’s wearing an excessive amount of hairgel, something people her age have learned not to do.

****

“15 dollars, ladies!” the bartender hollers. Clarke makes a show of beginning to dig in her small purse for cash and she feels a rough hand touch her wrist.

****

“I got it, sweetie,” he says and tells the bartender to put it on his tab. She tries to keep her eye rolling at a minimal and instead offers as sweet a smile as she can give.

****

“Thanks!” she grabs Harper’s free wrist and drags her away before the creep can try to latch onto them.

****

It still amazes her how there still seems to be the assumption that if you buy a girl a drink, she’s suddenly in debt to you. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson. At least they got a free drink out of it.

****

“Was it free?” Bellamy asks when she moves into the spot next to him. She slides the drink to him and he gives her a confused look.

****

“Free for me, free for you,” she offers without explanation, “Bourbon and coke.”

****

She sees something pass across his face briefly, but she isn’t quite sure how to place it. Morbid curiosity? Gratitude?.

****

“You trying to get me drunk?” he has a charm about him, she can admit. The way he carries himself confidently but self-aware. He knows he’s good looking and he knows how to use it. She can’t complain.

****

They’re teetering into flirtatious territory and she feels herself going along with it, moving a bit closer to him and placing a light hand on his arm, “Definitely.”

****

She isn’t opposed to flirting with him. In fact, she’s opened up that gate multiple times. There’s just something about him that continues to draw her in without notice. It’s like she tries to remain friendly and distant, but he’s determined to make it as difficult as possible, though she isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. Based on all his interactions, he’s just a friendly guy. He’s affectionate with all of his friends, constantly teasing them and it could easily be misconstrued as flirting. Maybe that’s what’s happening here?

****

Their moment is short lived. Gina manages to nearly yank her shoulder out of socket trying to drag her to the dance floor. She practically orders everyone else to follow suit. Bellamy and Miller are the only exceptions, expressing just how vehemently against dancing they are. They prefer to watch the poor souls who don’t have rhythm make fools of themselves.

****

Clarke has nothing against dancing. She’s always enjoys it when she gets the chance to do it. She doesn’t make a big show, just sways her hips with the music and follows the rhythm. She actually enjoys the song that’s playing so falling into the movement isn’t too difficult. The lights  are overwhelming, a kaleidoscope of colors surrounding them, but once she’s used to them she finds that likes them.

****

It doesn’t take long for Harper find someone to make out with. She moves into the crowd and Clarke does her best to keep at least a idea of her whereabouts. She’s watched too many true crime series to just let someone fade into the background without ensuring they’re safe. She and Gina are dancing with each other, though Gina is very much outdoing her, tossing her hair and twirling despite her balance being something close to awful. Emori and Murphy are dancing closely next to them, zoned in on one another like the rest of the floor doesn’t exist. The beat begins to pick up and she’s having fun throwing herself into the music until she feels hands grip at her hips.

****

She whips around to find the guy from the bar grinning at her lecherously. Her stomach takes a sharp turn.  She tries to move away subtly, turning to face him and backing into Gina. She gives him her best smile, like she hadn’t just rejected him but he seems determined. He places his hands on her hips again and pulls her towards him, grinding his pelvis into her. The whole thing feels dirty and strange. She’s done her fair share of bumping and grinding, but usually the consensual kind.This just feels forced and all around terrible.

****

She places her hand on his chest and pushes back and it’s then that he seems to register that she doesn’t actually want to dance with him. He puts his mouth to her ear, “You let me buy you a drink.”

****

She pulls back and has to fight the urge to knee him in the balls. She leans towards him, “You offered, I don’t owe you anything.”

****

He wraps an arm around her waist, the direct opposite of what she was trying to tell him. Gina seems to come to her senses, though she’s a little too tipsy to offer any sort of support. She gets credit for trying.

****

“She said back off, dude!” she yells, trying to pull Clarke away from him. It doesn’t do anything besides make him more irritated.

****

“No one asked you,” he yells at her before waving her off like a fly. To Clarke’s surprise, Gina just takes a step back before disappearing in the crowd. She tries to locate Murphy and Emori, but they seemed to have disappeared at some point. Trying to decide what next steps to take, she concludes that he is actual trash and being polite isn’t going to make him let go. So, she rationalizes her next move and as she leans into him and he gives her a sickening smile, she rears her knee back and gets him squarely in the dick. He let’s go immediately.

****

He bends over in front of her with a yelp and she places a hand on his shoulder before leaning down to get on his level yelling over the music, “Word of advice: when a someone says no, you fucking listen!”

****

Feeling satisfied with her work, she gives him a small push and he leaves the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs. When she turns around, she finds Bellamy watching her carefully.

****

He manages to snap his mouth shut and give her grin, “Gina said some guy was being a dick.”

****

She nods in understanding. She went for help. She gives the girl her credit back, glad that she hadn’t actually left her in the dust.

****

She lifts her chin, “I can handle myself.”

****

That only causes his smile to widen, “Clearly.”

****

She stands there awkwardly for a moment, trying to shrug off the whole incident. A new song has begun and it’s a slower. Seductive almost. Almost instinctively, she begins moving to beat again. She kinks her eyebrow, daring him to join her. She expects him to shake his head and walk away, but as she moves her hips from side to side, she notices the way his eyes darken ever so slightly and he begins to move with her.

****

Instinctively, she moves in closer to him. It makes her feel a little more comfortable and she expects that no one else will attempt to dance with her, at the least. He seems hesitant at first, his hand only grazing her side. She feels like she’s in a trance. They’re watching each other intently, and she grabs his hand to place it firmly on her hip. Permission granted.

****

She leans in with a coy smile, “I thought you didn’t dance?”

****

He places a finger to his lips, “Don’t ruin this once in lifetime opportunity.”

****

He places his other hand on her and he’s holding her as she moves, letting himself follow her lead. It feels vastly different from her previous encounter. It’s tentative, but they gravitate towards one another. Her hand slides onto his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape and his arm slips around her waist. They press into each other, hips meeting and chests flush together. She’s feeling warm, all of a sudden, heat flooding her cheeks and her stomach. She doesn’t know when the last time she had been this close to someone. But what she does know is that this, the way he’s moving with her and watching her likes she’s something special, is something she doesn’t want to end.

****

As if thinking the same thing, he leans his forehead onto hers and their breaths mingle with the heat of the dance floor. She licks her lips in anticipation. There is only a second of hesitation as the song begins to fade into something new before he closes the short distance between them and presses his lips against hers. It’s chaste at first, just lips on lips but she tilts her head slightly and when he runs his tongue teasingly at the seam of her lips, she quickly grants him access.

****

He’s a good kisser, is the first thing that she registers. She gets lost in him almost immediately, the rest of the world completely drowned out, her own racing thoughts silenced. They’re testing the waters, teasing tongues and soft touches. They could be there for moments or hours, she isn’t sure but when they break apart, suddenly everything is too loud.

.

“I need some air,” she breathes and pulls away, trying to make her way from the crowd. Her heart is beginning to race and she feels herself beginning to panic. Her chest is vibrating under the bass and her head feels like it’s pounding. She forces her way out the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

****

Damn, he’s a good kisser.

****

Her head is a flurry of thoughts, wanting more but also wary of what it means. She leans against the brick building and closes her eyes, trying to ground herself. The air isn’t cool by any means, but there’s a light breeze that’s helping the fire burn low on her cheeks. She’s hears approaching footsteps and doesn’t even open her eyes to see who they belong to. She knows. And she isn’t surprised one bit.

****

He leans against the wall next to her, shoving his hands in his pocket and just gazing into the parking lot. They stand in silence, both taking in the meaning of the moment on the dance floor. What does it mean, if anything? Where do they go from here?

****

“Did I fuck up?” he asks finally, his voice low and contemplative.

****

“No!” she says immediately, her cheeks flaring once again in embarrassment, “You didn't do anything wrong. It was nice…”

****

Nice is an understatement. It was amazing. Mind-numbing, even. She can’t remember the last time her mind had ever been that quiet, That focused.

****

“But?” he can already tell there’s more to the statement. There is a but. A very big but. How does she explain it without going into her history? She’s not ready to reveal that part of herself to him, after all, they're nothing but strangers. Intimate strangers.

****

“I leave for Chicago in August,” she settles, revealing the least personal of reasons why kissing him was a bad idea, “I...I can’t commit to anything.”

****

He finally looks at her, shaking his head with a grimace, “It was a kiss, Clarke.”

****

She doesn’t say anything so he continues, turning his body towards her and relaxing against the wall, “I’m not asking for anything. I like you and it can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

****

What does she want it to mean? She likes him too, she knows that. But can it really be that simple? Like a friends with benefits type thing? They’re hardly friends. But maybe that’s what makes it a good thing.

****

“How can you like me? You barely know me...”

****

“Maybe so. Does it matter?”

****

She thinks about it carefully. If she had any interest in dating him, maybe it would. She'd want him to know everything about her -- her birthday, her history. She’d tell him about Wells. She'd want him to know the finer details. But she can't date him. She has three months in the city and then they're both on were their respective lives. Yet he’s making her an offer-they can just do what they want to do, summer fling. She always thought those were movie cliches but it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. They’re pretty much together all the time, anyways.

****

“I guess it doesn't,” is her final answer.

****

“I know you’re smart, you’re kind of funny, and tough as nails,” he lists them off like they’re no big deal. Like he wasn't complimenting the hell out of her. She realizes that nothing really has to change from what they’re already doing. They had been flirting since they met.

****

“Kind of funny?” she raises an eyebrow and she swears she sees his shoulders sag in relief. He seems to understand that it’s her way accepting his offer...or whatever it is.

****

“You’re hot, so it makes up for the lack of humor,” he deadpans and she pinches his arm. He gives her another smile and she decides to go for it. What does she have to lose?

****

“So, what happens now?” she asks, inching closer to him, lips curving upwards as she grazes her fingers against his arm.

****

He offers a shy laugh, bringing his hand to the curve of her hip, “Well, for starters, if I kiss you again, are you going to run away?”

****

She smiles then, “No.”

****

“Good,” he replies, a slides his other hand onto her cheek and pulls her forward. Their lips are inches apart, “I like kissing you.”

****

She doesn’t respond, just closes the distance between them. The world goes silent again, her mind a comfortable quiet she could find solace in. It’s the happiest she’s felt in months.

****

June 2013

Two things change after Gina’s birthday. The first being that she now has everyone’s number and has been added to every chat group known to man. And they talk a lot. It's endearing but also annoying as her phone is constantly buzzing with activity.  The second being that her and Bellamy are friends who make out on occasion. Or all the time. That’s a better description.

****

She continues to see him in the library and they put away books together, talking about  anything they can, usually keeping the topic neutral and not very personal. She had told him that after a particularly intense make-out session outside of the Ark and he had been cool with it. The less they know about each other, the more casual they can keep it.

****

They talk about Harper’s currently dating crisis -- apparently the girl from the bar (Roma was her name) is extremely into her and really wants to date her, but Harper also really wanted to play the field this summer. They also talk about school, he tells her about some of his classes and his aspirations. Nothing out of the ordinary for friends. Perfectly comfortable.

****

At first, she had been wary on how to act with him while they were around his friends, seemingly not wanting to give the wrong impression.They’re all cool and don’t seem like the judgmental type, but she still hadn't been sure.  Bellamy took the reigns on that one after particularly intense game of darts with Emori and Murphy, he snatched her into a victory kiss and  no one cared. They seemed pretty unsurprised by it, in fact. She figures they know Bellamy well enough to know that relationships aren’t his thing, after all they’ve talked about it quite a bit. His longest relationship had been with a girl named Echo and that lasted about three months before he decided it wasn’t for him.

****

“Maybe I’m just picky,” he defended himself, but everyone chided him on his inability to connect emotionally. It’s somewhat of a relief to know that about him and it’s perhaps why he so willingly agreed to remain as distant as possible. She can’t complain, it makes staying unattached pretty simple.

****

“Do you know who Two Door Cinema Club is?” he asks her one day as they lounge in one of the book stacks of the library. They’re taking a well deserved break after shelving a large amount of encyclopedias and she has her head resting on his thigh, thumbing through one of the 1940 editions. He’s currently tracing idle circles into her scalp.

****

“Sure,” she tells him. Wells had always been her musically inclined friend, introducing her to bands and insisting she listen. They had been one of the few groups/bands she found herself actually enjoying.

****

“I have tickets to their concert tonight,” he tells her and she doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s trying to brag. He likes to do that, she’s learned. He plays the cocky asshole well.

****

“That’s cool.”

****

“Miller was supposed to come with me,” he continues, “But he went home.”

****

Miller’s family lives in Amherst, the most boring town in the world according to Bellamy, but she’s noticed he seems to be a bit dramatic.

****

“Everything okay?” she asks. She imagines he wouldn’t ditch without good reason. If there’s anything she’s learned about Miller it’s that he’s reliable.

****

“His dog is sick. He’s old,  so you know...”

****

If she remembers correctly, his dog had been his screensaver on his phone and he had drunkenly told her all about him. His name is Ammo and he’s pretty fucking cute. It’s also adorable how much Miller cares about him. He’d had him since he was a kid. 

****

“Poor guy.”

****

Bellamy hums and pulls his clipboard over to idly scratch out the returns he’s shelved, “What I’m trying to say is, I have an extra ticket if you’re interested.”

****

Oh. It sounds vaguely like a date. Her heart thumps aggressively against her ribcage at the thought.

****

“It’s not a date,” he seems to read her mind, “It’s just convenient that you like them and I have a ticket already paid for.”

****

“And you want to go with me?” she wishes she weren’t so self-deprecating.  It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s very obvious now that he enjoys her company, and only partially because she’s a good kisser. Or so she assumes. She’s never had anyone else tell her otherwise.

****

“You were definitely my last choice.”

****

“Well, in that case,” she leans up to give him a pointed stare, “I’d hate for you to have to go alone. Knowing you, you’d probably find some unsuspecting introvert to prey on.”

****

The venue isn’t far from Midtown, so they make plans to meet at her mom’s place. She gives him the address and she watches his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

****

“You're kidding,” he deadpans and she sighs, praying that he’s not another person who will decide to judge her based on wealth.

****

“We can leave around 6:30,” is all she responds.

****

“Damn,” he whistles when he shows up at the apartment, “You weren’t kidding.”

****

He’s fiddling with one of her mom’s weird fake plants while she slips on her shoes.

****

“Yeah, yeah, it’s amazing,” she practically shoves him out the door, not wanting him to spend too much time going over the historical artifacts lying around the apartment. She’s also not a fan of showing off money, which her mom’s apartment does quite a bit. It’s Not her thing.

****

They make it to the venue about thirty minutes before the concert, thanks to a very new Uber driver taking the wrong route and getting them lost. She thinks it’s funny, but doesn’t mind when the driver tells them to forget the payment and drives off.

****

“I’m not really big into standing at the front anyways,” Bellamy says when they walk inside to see a fairly decent crowd smashed against the stage.

****

“Me either,” she agrees, “Grab a drink and hang in the back?”

****

“You’re speaking my language.”

****

That’s how they spend the entire concert, leaning against a table and nodding along to the music. She dances a little, enjoying the infectious rhythm of their songs. When they play her favorite song, Sun, she can’t help but join into the jumping and maybe one or two hair whip’s makes it out. She wore her hair down for a reason.

****

He watches her amused, though makes no effort to join in. He did tell her the dancing was a rare thing for him. It’s fine, she enjoys dancing alone anyways.

****

When he steps away to grab a drink during a small break, the band has an issue with an instrument and arere in the process of tuning their back up. She’s fairly engrossed in watching them until she turns to make a comment to Bellamy and realizes he hasn’t come back. When she turns towards the bar, she sees him engaged in conversation with a tall brunette who’s putting on all the stops. She throws her head back with a laugh, looking like she belongs in a Crest commercial, and places a hand on his shoulder. Clarke feels something pull at her stomach but does her best to ignore it. He has every right in the world to flirt and have fun. They’re friends. Friends who like to kiss sometimes and she’s perfectly content with that.

****

She decides to move slightly closer to the crowd and engage a little more. They seem like a calm bunch. There’s been minimal pushing and some fairly tame dancing. She’ll fit right in. The next song starts and it’s one of their older ones. The crowd goes wild and she finds herself engrossed in the fist pumping, mouthing the words along with the person standing next to her.

****

When she feels a hand on the small of her back, she nearly pulls up her knee in reflex. But then she sees dark curls out of the corner of her eye and relaxes.

****

“Couldn’t resist, huh?” Bellamy says into her ear, her original idea of hanging out in the back and watching long lost. She gives him an innocent shrug. She ignores the fact that the knot that had been sitting in her stomach releases at the sight of him.  _ It’s no big deal.  _ He rolls his eyes but to her surprise, he starts to dance with her. It’s nothing much, just bobbing his head and swaying, but seeing him dance is not as rare an occurrence as he claimed. She tries not to feel satisfied by that.

****

They spend the rest of their night in the crowd and by the time they leave, they’re a sweaty mess. She pulls her hair up into the bun, desperate to get the hair from sticking to her neck. She hates the way it feels.

****

“They were amazing,” she gushes, pushing a loose hair from her forehead. He nods in a agreement and watches the crowd begin to scatter. She pulls out her phone to order the Uber and hesitates.

****

“Would it be easier to drop you off first or me?” she asks. She plans on paying for it, to equalize the fact that he brought her along, so she finds a solution that makes sense, “You, probably.”

********  
  


“You could come home with me,” he says and she nearly snaps her neck looking up from where she had been typing the address in. He watches her reaction warily, “If you want.”

****

They haven’t crossed that line yet. They have only hung out in the presence of others, whether the general public or his close friends. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. In fact, when his tongue is down her throat and his hands are splayed across the small of her back, she thinks about it quite a lot. She’s trying to make better choices, to stop resolving her issues with sex and drinking and whatever destructive behavior she can come up with. None of those things would bring Wells back. Would stop people from hurting her.

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the temptation. She thinks about going home, to the dark and empty home, to another cold pizza on the counter from her mom, trying to make up for her absence. She thinks about the aching loneliness she feels when she’s stuck inside with nothing to distract her from reality. She looks at him and he’s watching her with reserved hopefulness and suddenly the answer is easy.

****

“Sure,” she finally says and types his address into the Uber destination bar. They stand in a comfortable silence waiting for it to pull up. Not ten minutes later are they in the back of the car and he’s debating the ethics of surge prices. He had caught a glimpse of her phone and saw the “3x” symbol next to the pricing and decided that this particular Uber driver deserved to hear his lecture on price gouging. 

****

“Bellamy, it’s fine,” she groans, sensing the discomfort of the driver, “Write a letter to the CEO or something!”

****

He concedes with a dramatic sigh and she pats his leg sympathetically. She’s learned that he tends to work himself up about the smallest things, but she’s happy he’s easy to redirect. She slides her hand from his thigh and twines her fingers into his to give them another reassuring squeeze. That’s the thing about Bellamy. He’s an affectionate guy, free with his touches and often times has no semblance of personal space. He’s that way with all of his friends, often times hanging an arm around Miller or placing a chaste kiss on Harper’s forehead. He enjoys the contact of others and she can’t say she’s opposed.

****

There surge price debate becomes forgotten. The drive isn’t long and they pull up to a small brick house in a quiet neighborhood, vastly different from what she’s experienced thus far in the city. She likes it.

****

“It’s not much,” he says as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, “But it’s home.”

****

It’s not big by any means. A two bedroom, single floor house. It’s a bit run down, paint chipping from the walls but well decorated and clean. She follows him through the hallway and into the living room, where it is joined with the small kitchen. She’s impressed by how well matched everything is. Most college students have mismatched cheap furniture. They haveat least  put thought into their living room set.

****

“Most of it is Miller’s,” he breaks the silence, “He’s a bargain hunter. Got the couch and the chair for like 200 bucks on Craigslist.”

****

“Smart guy,” she responds. She moves to settle on the couch and grabs the book currently lying open on the coffee table.

****

“Are you seriously reading this again?” it’s a tattered copy of  _ The Iliad,  _ a book that she knows he’s read at least ten times- He’s told her as much.

****

“I like it,” he counters and snatches from her hands, delicately marking his page and placing it on the bookshelf next to the tv. She’s not surprised to see the shelf is filled with books, some clearly textbooks and others well read editions of classics. He seriously is a nerd but it’s kind of endearing.

****

When he flops onto the couch next to her, he picks up the remote to mess with the TV, “What do you want to watch?”

****

“Just turn something on,” she says casually and decides she might as well lay it all out on the table, “We probably won’t watch it much anyway.”

****

“Are you insinuating a Netflix and chill?” he asks sounding appalled, though his eyes seem to hold a sparkle when he looks at her.

****

“Don’t you have to have Netflix for that?” she asks dryly.

****

“Yeah,” he replies, “But Hulu and chill just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

****

He finds a show on the front page of Hulu and clicks play, “Did you know Nick Offerman has his own woodworking shop in real life?”

****

The familiar theme song of Parks and Rec begins to play and smiles slightly, “You don’t say.”

****

He sets the remotes on the table and glances at her, “He’s also a skilled saxophone player.”

****

He’s nervous. She peeks at him through her peripherals and he’s stared fixedly at the television, habitually picking at his nails. That’s his tell. His sudden anxiety gives her a bit of her own. Maybe he hadn’t brought her over here for anything other than to hang out. Maybe she had misread the whole situation. But then she thinks about the way he kisses her, like he wants to consume her completely. The way he touches her so freely, like it's the most natural thing in the world. They’ve already agreed upon a no strings relationship, even if it was only in reference to kissing and heavy groping. She imagines that going further will be under the same rules.

****

She humors him and turns her attention back to the television, pretending to be fascinated by what Andy’s currently doing. She laughs, because dammit Andy Dwyer is hilarious. She hears him chuckle as well.

****

“Did you know he was only supposed to be in season one?”

****

The fact that he knows so much about the show doesn’t surprise her. He seems like the kind of guy to get on IMDB and read the trivia facts, which, she’s not judging because she has admittedly done the same. But is now really the time? She scoots closer to him so that their thighs are pressing together.

****

“It was supposed to be a spinoff of the Office,” his voice deepens a little and she sees his throat bob nervously.

****

“Bellamy,” she finally says, exasperation clear in her voice. Finally he looks at her, and she notices the way his pupils have gone dark, the way they did when they had been dancing. He’s definitely interested.

****

She hears the familiar voice of Tom Haverford and Bellamy points at the screen half-heartedly, “He went to business school.”

****

Deciding that she might as well make the first move, she moves into his lap placing her thighs on either side of his so she’s straddling his legs. She feels his hands slide onto her hips, “I am basically offering myself on a silver platter here and you want to tell me Parks and Rec trivia?”

****

He leans his forehead against hers, lips dangerously close, “I didn’t want it to seem like I brought you here just to hook up.”

****

She snorts, “Even though you did.”

****

“Whatever,” he says, “I’m trying to be a gentleman, Clarke.”

****

The last thing she says before crushing her lips to his is, “Fucking nerd.”

****

Seriously, she could kiss him for hours. Not only for the solace it gives her, but also because he’s very skilled with his lips. He can go from lazy to passionate to sensual in about three seconds flat and honestly, he could, quite possibly be the best kiss she’s ever had. She won’t confirm that, though. She wouldn’t want to stroke his ego any more.

****

However, when she thought it couldn’t get much better, it turns out he had been holding out. Being in the privacy of his own place without fear of interruption or the stigma surrounding PDA, he’s much hungrier. He nips at her lower lip before moving his own to the hollow of her throat and the sensitive parts of her neck. She can’t help the moan that escapes when he finds a sweet spot just behind her ear. The sound seems to drive him more.

****

She can feel his building excitement between her legs and she finds that she’s not worried or intimidated by it. It actually causes her own to grow. It amazes her how he’s able to drive her to this point with his lips alone. Instinctively, she grinds down into him and he sucks her bottom lip in between his teeth, grazing it and driving her completely mad.  When she pulls back, her lips are red and swollen from the large amount of attention they’ve received but she isn’t quite ready to let them rest. When he seems ready to say something, she leaves a hot and wet kiss on his jawline. His hand creeps under her shirt and she flinches as his thumb nearly grazes the puckered scar on her back.

****

“Sorry…” he says quickly, snatching his hand from its place on her bare back. She gives him an apologetic smile.

****

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. It caught her by surprise and though she may be ready to cross some boundaries with him, letting him feel that part of her isn’t one of them. She feels her mind beginning to race again, thoughts of that night beginning to flash through her mind. She kisses him fiercely, trying to drown them out once more. He lets his hands travel her body, though this time remaining firmly above the shirt. He grazes her breasts and she feels her self-control begin to waiver. A want she’s never felt before settles into her stomach.

****

“Bellamy,” she groans when his hand brushes her breast and she feels them harden at the slightest touch.

****

“Tell me what you want,” he growls into her ear, lust coating his voice..

****

She stops thinking at this point, letting herself follow the moment for what it is. She’s picking up what he’s laying down, he’s putting the ball in her court.

****

“You,” she breathes, “To touch me. Everywhere.”

****

She lets out a loud yelp when he stands up, gripping her ass in his hands to keep her firmly attached to him. She wraps her legs around his waist and allows him to carry her off to, she presumes, his bedroom. She nuzzles his shoulder and lets out a giddy laugh when he drops her on his bed and she takes a couple bounces. The room is illuminated only by the dim lights coming through the blinds. She finds comfort in the dark,. They can be strangers here.

****

“Miller would kill me if I tainted the couch,” he explains and pulls his shirt over his head and though her eyes are still adjusting, she can see the smoothness of his chest and the tone of his abdomen. She can see the muscle definition and the way it disappears below his waistline. She does her best not to drool.

****

“Like what you see?” he asks smugly, her desire clearly written on her face.

****

“Eh,” she responds, trying her best to sound unfazed. He climbs on top of her and attaches his lips to her neck, sucking the spot he knows drives her absolutely mad.

****

“You’re alright,” she says half-heartedly and he grinds into her for good measure.

He leans up and she moves with him, lifting her arms in the air indicating she wants her shirt off. He obliges and pulls the offending piece of fabric off, tossing it  to the floor with a soft thump. Thank God she wore her good bra today.

****

He watches her for a moment, taking it all in and runs his hands along her sides. Goosebumps follow the trail of his finger and he leans down to kiss her, slower this time.

****

“Have I mentioned you’re fucking beautiful?” he asks and the reverie in which he says it stuns her for a moment. Of course he’s called her cute plenty of times, but the way he says this feels...intimate. Like he really finds her to be the most beautiful creature on the Earth. It’s a bit intimidating and she tries to pretend her heart doesn’t flutter in her chest when he says it.

****

She twines her fingers into his hair scraping at the curls on his neck and then they’re kissing again while their hands are everywhere. She slides hers into the waistband of his jeans, tracing along his hip bones and she swears she feels him shudder under her fingertips. He reaches behind her back and skillfully unhooks her bra with one hand, finally allowing her chest to be free. He wastes no time, first palming at her breasts and  replacing his hand(s?) with lips. He swirls his tongue around her nipple and she almost comes from that contact alone. He pays equal amount of attention to both nipples.breasts/etc and she’s forced to rub her thighs together to get some sort of friction down there. She’s already on the edge and he hasn’t even fully touched her yet.

****

She tries to hasten the process of clothes removal by reaching down to unbutton her own jeans and he takes the hint, hooking his own fingers into her belt loops and sliding them down her thighs along with her underwear. She’s fully exposed to him now and he looks nothing short of amazed. He reaches in between them and touches her gently, causing her legs to twitch. His touches are soft, first running a gently thumb over her folds and she can’t help but groan in frustration.

****

“You wet for me?” he’s smirking now, loving the way her body begs for him.

****

“Yes,” she breathes, “Please just…”

****

“What do you want, Clarke?” he applies more pressure to her now and she pulls her hips up to meet him as he begins to circle her clit.

****

“Fuck!” is all she manages to get out but he seems to understand perfectly.

****

He pushes her thighs apart, his thumb still working her and slides down on the bed, kissing her hip bone as he goes, “Just so you know, I’m really into foreplay.”

****

She doesn’t have a chance to respond before he replaces his finger with his mouth. Just as suspected, he’s just as good with his mouth down there. His tongue slides smoothly along her sex while his fingers move in and out. She slides a hand into his hair, gripping it a little tighter than she means to when he grazes his teeth along her. Apparently, he appreciates her enthusiasm because he buries his face further into her and she’s falling apart with a loud moan.  He takes her through the entire orgasm, lapping up her juices like he’s never tasted anything  like it.  When he leans up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm before giving her a proud smile.

****

“Really into foreplay,” he reiterates and she offers a weak laugh before pulling him down for a kiss. She can taste herself on his lips. Deciding he deserves a similar show of affection for his effort, she perks up to her knees and gently pushes his shoulders back.

****

“Well, in that case,” she husks and reaches down to pop the button on his jeans. He helps her get them off and his erection springs free, waiting for her next move. She wraps a delicate hand around him, feeling him out for the first time. Not that she has a whole lot to compare it to, but she can already see he’s well equipped. She wraps her hand around him and slides it up and down slowly, testing him out. His hand grips the bed a little tighter. She should be more nervous than she is, after all this isn’t something she normally does, but she can’t remember ever being this turned on. She hardly has time to think and finds herself doing what comes naturally. In this case, she doesn’t hesitate to run her lips along the length of his erection before completely taking him in.

****

“Fuck,” he growls out, threading his fingers in her hair. She’s not very experienced in the blow job department, but she also never had any complaints. Either way, she wants to pleasure him as much as he pleasured her.

****

“Tell me what you like.” She says, pulling up for a moment to give him another seductive smile. 

****

And he does. When she does something he likes, he makes sure she knows. Whether it’s grunting in pleasure or telling her how much he likes seeing her with his cock in her mouth. When he’s not reacting at all, she knows it’s not for him. She continues for a solid five minutes before he pulls her up.

****

“Not that...I mean I’m not expecting,” he’s the one having trouble forming coherent sentences now and she can’t help but feel satisfied with her work, “Guys don’t rebound like girls do.”

****

She has no idea what he’s talking about so he tries to clarify, “I’m...close and I don’t want it to be over...you know, before we get started?”

****

He’s getting flustered and she can’t help but laugh. He groans, clearly frustrated by his lack of cohesiveness.

****

“I’m just trying to say if you want to have sex and good sex, you shouldn’t keep going.”

****

She doesn’t answer for a moment, and not really because she doesn’t know what to say but because her mind is pretty hazy as well. She was perfectly content to finish him this way, letting him cum in her mouth because she knows it would blow his mind and she doesn’t really have an aversion to it.  But, selfishly, she definitely wants to know what he feels like inside of her.  

****

“Did I fuck up? I mentioned sex...fuck. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want….I,” she kisses him mid ramble.

****

“Relax,” she says when she pulls away, “I’m happy with sex or I’m happy to finish you off like this. What do you want?”

****

He considers her for a moment before he grips her hip firmly, “I really want to fuck you.”

****

She never thought she’d be into the dirty talk, but damn if he didn’t sound good when he told her all the filthy things he wanted to do to her.

****

“Condoms?” she asks and he points to his nightstand. She fumbles around in the drawer, keeping one hand firmly around his shaft so he stays hard, and pulls one from the drawer. She tears the wrapper open with her teeth and he moans at the sight. She just grins as she rolls the condom onto him. Just as she’s about to sink down on top of him, he flips her onto her back.

****

“I said  _ I _ want to fuck you,” he clarifies and sinks into her with one long push. And it feels better than she could have ever imagined.

****

“Oh God,” she gasps as he fills her up, sinking her nails into his shoulder.  

****

He starts of with slow strokes, pushing in and out at a tantalizing speed. She never thought herself to be loud or anything, but her breath is coming out in raspy moans and they get a little louder as the momentum increases. She pulls her hips up to meet him, flexing her inner walls when he’s completely inside of her.

****

“You feel so good,” he’s whispering into her ear, face buried in her neck and one hand firmly wrapped around her back, “Amazing, Clarke, so fucking good.”

****

She hikes her leg up and he slides it over his shoulder and the angle causes her to nearly scream. She grips his arm as he picks up speed and before she even feels it building, she’s falling apart again, shaking beneath him and crying out his name into the dark room. It only takes him a couple more pushes before she feels him come undone as well and he collapses on top of her with a groan.

****

She runs a hand idly through his hair and he doesn’t move for a good minute or two. Finally, as though he has to muster up the rest of his strength he rolls off of her and removes the condom, idly searching for the trash can near his bed.

****

“Fuck.” he says when sinks back down into the pillows. It’s a simple statement. She isn’t sure what it means.  _ Wow? I fucked up?  _ Or maybe,  _ You were amazing? _

****

“Fuck.” she agrees. She isn’t sure what she means by it either. She’s satisfied and the usual guilt that comes from these sort of hookups doesn’t come. She doesn’t regret it.

****

He turns to look at her and gives her a lazy smile, “Was that okay?”

****

He isn’t asking if he was okay in bed or if she’s satisfied. He’s asking if they stepped over any boundaries. If they violated the terms of their unspoken agreement.

****

“I’m okay,” she answers firmly, “You?”

****

He lets out a low chuckle, “I’m great.”

****

Neither makes a move to get closer to the other, which is fine by her. Cuddling seems too intimate in this moment and she almost laughs at the contradiction of it all. She can have sex with someone and still feel far away. But if there is cuddling, well, that’s just not allowed. She leans up and finds her discarded shirt on the ground, pulling it over her head in one swift motion, determined to cover up. She feels all too exposed and uncertain. What happens now?

****

“Relax,” he tells her, again seemingly reading her mind with ease. She hates how well he can read her already. It’s not fair.

****

“I’m still not going to ask you to marry me, Clarke,” it’s a reference to the conversation they had when they first kissed, “We’re friends. We had sex. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

****

“You’re okay with that?” She feels like she has to ask. He hasn’t indicated anything to the contrary, but she can’t help but still be a little paranoid about it. The last thing she wants is to hurt him. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? She has a record of hurting people. She doesn’t want to add anymore names to the list.

****

“Getting laid on the regular without having to suffer through the relationship part that I know I’m not good at?” when she doesn’t respond, he clarifies, “I’m definitely okay with that.”

****

It doesn’t feel normal at this moment. That’s usually not something girls want to hear after sex, but to her, it’s a relief.

****

“Who said it’s happening again?”

****

He leans up onto his elbow, and opens his knees so that’s he’s practically posing for her, “You know you can’t resist.”

****

“You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” she teases, pushing his shoulders so that he’s on his back and she’s pinning him to the bed.

****

“Absolutely.”

****

“Well if you do manage to convince me to do it again,” she says dramatically, “Maybe it would be a good idea to set like...rules or something?”

****

He slides his hands onto her bare thighs and she has to suppress a shiver threatening to run up her spine, “What kind of rules?”

****

“I don’t know, to make sure we’re on the same page.”

****

“I’m listening.”

****

They manage to agree on three things.

****

  1. No staying the night.
  2. No cuddling (which he was reluctant to agree to because he likes cuddling almost as much as he likes foreplay.)
  3. No falling in love (or feelings beyond lust.



****

He walks her out that night and gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek with a simple request that she let him know when she arrives safely home. She does. She crawls into bed, her body exhausted from the long day. Normally, it takes her hours to fall asleep. Her fear of the nightmares often keeping her awake long into the night.

****

She falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

****  
  
  



	2. part ii. never tell the one you want that you do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the angst, friends.   
> all titles come from the National.  
> All mistakes are mine -- this was edited on a hazy 20 hour plane ride.

**July 2013**

When Clarke was six years old, she got into her first fight. She had been out on the playground, minding her own business, when she saw a group of guys pinning someone to the chainlink fence and reaching into his pocket for, what she presumed, was money. Wells Jaha was a politician’s son, someone they others knew to be rich and privileged and their jealousy constantly made him an easy target. When Clarke had stomped over to the fence and shoved one of the kids to the ground, they quickly scattered, afraid of the tiny blonde with fire in her eyes. Her and Wells stuck together after that, living in their own little bubble in the world. It was good.

She tries to remember the last good moment they had together, tries to cling to it like a lifeforce. They had been eating lunch together and he had been telling her about some science project gone wrong in class. He laughed so hard soda nearly came out of his nose. That’s how she wants to remember him -- all bright smiles and expressive eyes. He was a shining star in the night sky, the kind that draws your attention from all the others. The one that all the other stars want to be.

It’s easy to conjure that vision of him during the day. When something reminds her of him and draws as smile from her lips. The kit-kats at the checkout counter of the corner store, TIME magazine sitting on the newsstand. When she sees Halle Berry on her TV. There are memories of him wrapped in the universe but when she closes her eyes those don’t exist. In the dark shadows of the night, the only thing she can see is the way he looked at her just before the accident. She had been all tears and snot in the passenger's seat, her drunken rage vibrating the entire vehicle. His free hand rubbed circles into her shoulders while his other gripped the wheel firmly. At the red light, he had pulled her into a hug and allowed her to wipe her face into his shoulder.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” was what he said and it was with such conviction, so much that she actually believed him. The light turned green and she’s giving him a watery smile. Then she’s waking up in hospital a week later feeling numb to the world, feeling detached from her own body. And Wells was gone. Just like that.

Nightmares were constant for the first few months. Every night she would wake up screaming his name, reliving that moment over and over. Sometimes it’s like she is watching the accident from above, watching her own body get tossed through the window as the truck crushes the driver’s side. She’d crawl into bed with her dad on those nights and sob into his chest. The thoughts were always the same. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It should have been me.

She wasn’t alone in her loathing. Thelonius Jaha visited her exactly one time while she was in the hospital recovering, a month long process. He walked in and like a coward, she pretended to be asleep.

“I wish it were you,” he spoke his peace, spoke what she had told herself over and over, and as his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, she felt herself fall apart.

She hasn’t seen him again. From what limited information her dad would give her, he finished his mayoral term in December and then retired somewhere to mourn the loss of his son. She doesn’t blame him. She got out of the hospital and did physical therapy to get the strength in her legs back. Like some sick joke, she made a full recovery with only the scars lining her back left as a reminder of what she did.

The nightmares come less frequently. She never knows when, but even when they do they’re less vivid. Sometimes she’s trapped in a bright room and Wells stands in front of her and asks her to help him. Help me. Help me. He says nothing else.

That’s how she wakes up on this particular day. His voice is still echoing in her head when she sits up in bed and glances at the clock. Seven a.m. She clicks on the desk lamp and pulls out her sketchpad, willing herself to draw him the way she wants to remember him. Her biggest fear is that she’ll forget his smile. She’ll forget his laugh. It terrifies her.

As she concentrates on the lines of his face, she can’t help but wonder what he would think about her choices. He had always accepted her for who she was, logical, sometimes too serious. When she wanted to date girls and boys. He never judged her. But what would he say about her now?

“You can’t fuck the guilt away, Clarke,” she imagines him crossing his arms in frustration when she tells him about Bellamy. He would ask her to think about it and tell her to be careful. He wouldn't judge her or insist that she stop -- he always understood that about her. Clarke has never been great at following direction and, admittedly, is as stubborn as they come.

“I just want you to be happy.” He would say. She would give anything to hear him say it.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with Bellamy. Maybe she is still trying to free herself from the guilt. Maybe she’s trying to heal the only way she knows how. She finds solace in his sheets, a peaceful calm and perhaps she’s using him for that. But does it matter if she’s being used to?

Despite the bluster and cocky confidence he seems to exude, she knows there is more to him than meets the eye. She’s seen the way sometimes he’ll have a distant look in his eyes, like even though he’s in the middle of a bar or surrounded by friends, he’s somewhere completely different. She notices the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the way some days he’ll fuck her without even saying a word like he’s trying to find a release from it all. She knows that’s what it is because she’s doing it too.

It’s become a frequent occurrence. Most nights they spend together end back in his room, tangled up in one another and acting out their dirtiest thoughts while keeping their dirtiest secrets. She still hasn't shown the scars on her back. To his credit, he's not once even hinted at asking about the way she flinches when his hand gets too close. She's also very good at hiding them -- sex in his bedroom happens in the dark and they're usually in his bedroom. A few instances have included dingy bar restrooms but those never really involve clothes removal. He seems to know better than to ask and for that, she’s grateful.

During the day, nothing has changed. They put books away in the library and sometimes bicker among the stacks when they don’t agree on something. She continues to attend weekly outings at the Ark and she loves them, she laughs and it’s natural. They make her laugh. They make her feel like she’s moving forward instead of back. It's strange to her how easy she's adjusted here. In the small amount of time she's found people she clicks with, a routine that she enjoys.

So it goes, normalcy can't keep for long. When she finishes her sketch and resigns herself to being up, she shuffles into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She finds herself greeted by an already steaming pot and her mom sipping from her own mug in the kitchen. She's home from work, but the work never really ends..

“There’s a benefit, tonight,” she says after a particularly stilted conversation about the weather, “I thought we could go together.”

By no means does Clarke believe this to be some attempt at mother-daughter bonding. It's a chance for her to tell everyone what a great doctor she will be someday. That her daughter got into Northwestern and how proud she is. She wants to tell her NO way. That she has more exciting plans to attend to. But instead she chokes down her coffee and nods her head and the day is consumed by dress shopping and hair appointments.

Very rarely has she truly felt the benefits of having money. Her dad is an environmentalist, having spent years working in D.C for the EPA. For the last few years, he's been teaching at Ark U. He's no stranger to wealth, but he never cared about affording the nicest or newest material things. He prefers modest living and Clarke has to say she agrees.

After taking her out to buy a dress for the occasion (and shoes, because matching is important), she then finds herself at a salon having someone professionally tame her curls and pluck her overgrown eyebrows. She somehow manages to text Bellamy in between these events

Clarke: won't be able to do your job for you today, hope you can keep up.

Bellamy: guess I'll have to convince someone else to do it for me. Research shows there's a correlation between mansplaining art and people offering to help.

She has to bite her lip to suppress her laughter.

Clarke: research is inconclusive. I'll be more impressed when your sample size is >1.

Her mom calls for a driver to pick them up and it feels so freakishly Hollywood to her. Even more so when they arrive and are helped from the vehicle on the outside of some regal building. She thinks back to Bellamy insinuating that she's royalty. He'd sure get a kick out of it now.

The night is as tedious as she expects. It's all firm handshakes and impressive whistles when her mom delicately places her hands on Clarke's shoulders and informs them of her aspirations. Networking, is how her mom classified it. Professional ass kissing seems like a better term.

The most interesting person of the night catches her eye for unexpected reasons. Marcus Kane slips a comfortable arm around her mother and introduces himself as the co-founder of the non-profit benefiting from the event. She watches the way her mom's cheeks flush and she slides from his grasp clearing her throat. She excuses herself to the restroom and it's all very inconspicuous.

“So,” Marcus seems unfazed by the awkward encounter, “Your mom said you're going to school to be doctor?”

She's done well at saying yes thus far but she's beginning to feel exhausted by the constant question and she accidentally says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Apparently,” she says, less than enthused by the prospect. She expects him to seem astounded or at least somewhat surprised by he answer. Instead he gives small chuckle.

“Well, word of advice,” he leans in like he's ready to extend the secrets of the universe, “Don't do anything you aren't passionate about.”

That sticks with her the rest of the night as she listens to people rattle off their accomplishments with little excitement. She notices how some of them, despite their impressive record, seem more sad. The way they drink the champagne a little too fast and offer fake laughter and shitty jokes. Could this be her? Would she be that person ten years from now, with the long winded introduction as the highlight of her Life?

The thought alone gives her anxiety. Half way through the third speaker, she leans over to her mom and tells her she needs to leave. While unknowing to the full extent of her daughter's trauma, she doesn't argue. She assumes, like most would, that she's been triggered by something and needs to get the hell out. It's not a completely inaccurate assumption. The trigger just isn't what she thought it would be.

She doesn't go home. Instead she climbs in the Uber and it takes her to the familiar house on the outskirts of Boston, the red door and quiet neighborhood offering a comfort she doesn't think she'd get at the condo. She didn't even text Bellamy to see if he's home. Her phone died a couple of hours ago.

She sees a light peaking through the front blind and knocks on the door before she can second guess it. Even if it’s Miller, she'll be happy. He has a way of diffusing tension with his subtle humor. She has learned to appreciate it.

She still feels a small relief when Miller isn’t the one to answer the door.

Bellamy’s jaw opens slightly, his eyes sliding down her body and the outfit adorning it. He gains his composure fairly quickly, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess?”

When she doesn't crack a smile it seems to register that something isn’t quite right, “Clarke?”

Despite the breeze of the cool summer night and being outside, she feels like things are closing in on her. What if she's been working her entire life for something she doesn't want? What if she won't be happy? What if she doesn't deserve to be happy?

Determined to quiet her mind she surges forward and pulls him into her. His lips dry and rough, hers fierce and determined. He hesitates for a brief moment, like he wants to ask her what's wrong, but he wraps his arms around her waist instead and pulls her into the house.

“Miller is at Bryan’s,” he mumbles in between kisses. She pulls off his t-shirt in response. They fumble down the hall and she reaches behind her to pull the zipper of her dress but he stops her.

“Keep it on,” he growls and before she can react, he hikes the fabric up to her waist and covers her with his hand, palming her over her underwear. She hooks on of her legs on his hip to grant him better access. She kisses his neck, sucking on the spot between his neck and shoulder that she knows gets him hot.

When he feels she's good and wet, he sinks to his knees and delicately removes her underwear and begins to lick at her. She's never been with someone who enjoys going down on her so much. He does it nearly time they're together and he is really fucking good at it. One of her thighs rests on his shoulder and a hand tangles itself into his hair. Her free hand keeps the dress well above her waist.

He doesn't stay down there long, just enough to have her teetering on the edge. When he stands up, he places his hands firmly under ass and lifts her into the wall, pinning her there with his body. He doesn't even bother to take his shorts off. He pulls them down enough to free his cock before entering her with a hard thrust.

He fucks her against the wall in rough strokes while her heels dig into his ass. He tells her how hot she is, how good she feels, and he repeats her name like a prayer. She comes undone with his name on her lips, her body trembling against his. He let's her down gently and she wastes no time sinking to her knees to take him in her mouth. She can taste herself on his cock as she swirls her tongue around the head before taking him in. He gathers her curls into his hand as she goes and he cums deep in her throat with a guttural moan.

She stands and he moves away, grabbing a towel from the nearby kitchen for her to wipe her mouth. She takes it gratefully and follow him into the kitchen. He reaches into the fridge to grab something and hands her a bottle of water.

She slides onto the countertop and kicks off her heels before taking a swig.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks finally, drumming his hands on the counter. She wants to tell him it's nothing, to thank him for the water and be on her way. But she wouldn't still be here if that's what she really wanted. She wouldn't have come at all.

“I don't want to be a doctor,” she whispers, picking at the label on the bottle, “Not even a little bit.”

He still thinks she's already in school. She never corrected him on that. It hasn't really come up again and she thinks maybe she should tell him. But she can't quite get it out.

“Then don't.” he offers the solution like it's the most simple thing in the world. Sure, she could go home tonight and tell her mom that she isn't doing it. But come fall, somehow she'll find herself enrolled in more Bio courses than needed. It's not that easy.

“You don't get it,” she blurts out. It's a mistake. The natural progression of a statement like that is continuing to explain why. Explaining why means revealing something deeply personal. Against the rules.

“Then explain it,” he says before sliding onto the countertop next to and kicking his feet for good measure. He's all ears.

She stares at him for a moment. He's a mess, still shirtless with tousled hair and flushed cheeks. But his eyes, he's watching her with genuine interest, like despite their agreement he truly wants to know these things about her.

Instead she sighs, “My mom is a surgeon.”

She should stop there. Leave it with a simple statement and let him fill in the blanks. However, once she opens her mouth and it's like a dam breaks. She tells him about her mom, how she works herself to the bone. How she put work before her family and how that is the last thing Clarke ever wants to do. In her heart, she doesn't feel anything. She reads the books she's supposed to read, she memorized what she's supposed to know. But it's missing something.

“You don't have passion for it,” he concludes for her when she fumbles on the words she's looking for.

“I really don't.”

Bellamy slides a hand onto her leg and gives it a reassuring squeeze. His fingers warm through the thin fabric of her dress.

“What would you do?” he asks after a moment of comfortable silence, “If you were to pick something else?”

The answer slides off her tongue easier than she anticipates, “Art.”

He doesn't seem surprised by this, he only chuckles lightly, “Of course.”

“What do you mean?”

He just shakes his head with a small grin, “You know Puvis de Chavannes. And don't think I haven't seen the sketch book buried beneath those shitty anatomy books.”

She can't help but smile a little, “Always the observer aren't You?”

He shrugs, “Believe it or not I am actually interested in being friends. And I like knowing things about friends.”

She takes a long drink of her water to process. It’s not that she doesn't want to be friends with Bellamy, but it's so much more complicated than that. Clarke has a tendency to cling to people once she lets them in. Wells. Raven. She doesn't want to cling to him, partially because she has to leave and she knows it will hurt like hell to build up a relationship, even a friendship, just for it to fall apart. The second thing is, and it's only been a fleeting thought but frightening all the same, she doesn't want to replace Wells. It's stupid because it's not what's happening at all but she still feels guilt. She isn't sure that guilt will ever go away.

“Hey,” Bellamy places a hand on her arm and shakes gently, “You okay? You zoned out for a second.”

His friendship wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She can be friends with him without letting him in. They can talk movies and frustration. They have the added benefit of sex and she feels good around him. Lighter somehow. She doesn't want to push that away.

She hops off the counter a little to enthusiastically, “Okay, friend. Any chance I can borrow some sweatpants and hang out for a while. We can watch one of your stupid documentaries.”

He gasps in faux hurt, “They aren't stupid. They’re educational.”

She actually laughs at that, “God, you are such a nerd.”

He flips her off before going to his room. He comes back with a t shirt and pajama pants for her to put on, “You want a beer or something?”

She doesn't bother going to the bathroom. Just skips the pants on underneath her dress and reaches behind her to pull the zipper, “I'm good.”

When he turns to reach in the fridge she quickly pulls on the t-shirt. She slides the dress of and lays it delicately over the counter before joining him on the couch.

“You looked nice, by the way.”

“Why the past tense? Are you saying I don't look nice now?”

When he gives a small gesture of his hand as if to say so-so, she launches the throw pillow at his head. After a moment of wrestling over it, she finally gives in and just settles into his side. He gives her a victorious grin before pressing play on the docuseries about the Cold War.

It's nearly two a.m when she decides it's time to head home. Part of her is tempted just sleep on his couch because it's so fucking late and she's exhausted. But staying the night is off the table and even if she's tired she isn't going to break it. Her Uber arrives and she grabs her dress from the counter. Bellamy walks her to the door and gives her a quick hug.

“Let me know when you get home.”

She waves goodbye and slides into the backseat. She can do friendship. Definitely.

  
*

Friendship is just as problematic as she hoped it wouldn't be. With any normal person it would be easy, but it's Bellamy and he's far from normal (which, knowing that is a problem in itself). He's too good a friend. A great friend, really. Supportive. Affectionate. Caring to the point of being a tad bit overbearing, but worst of all, he's observant. And now that they've crossed some metaphorical threshold into an actual friendship, he's much more vocal about the things he notices.

They’re at trivia night the following Wednesday, post friendship declaration, and the typical pitchers of beer adorn their table. It's during the intermission, Miller steps out to smoke while Harper and Gina run to the bathroom. He's running a thumb over her bare knee and she's staring off into space when he catches her off guard.

“How come you don't drink?” He muses and her eyes snap to his. She shouldn't be that surprised, it's not like she makes a show of pretending any more. It's probably quite obvious (it isn't, actually, only someone who genuinely cared to know would notice but she's not ready to admit that).

She tries to shrug it off, “Not a fan of alcohol.”

He sips his beer thoughtfully, “So you use your cleavage to have people buy you a water?”

“Or to pretend I bought the drink for someone else,” she counters with a playful nudge. This is safe, she thinks.

“Ah, so you let someone buy you a drink and then use the free drink to pick up someone else?”

She laughs, “Exactly.”

He watches her for a brief a moment, like she's a riddle he can't quite figure out. Like he knows she's only telling half-truths and avoiding the rest. Which, she is. And it's scary that he's already able to read that.

He let’s it go, thankfully, and they continue on to win trivia -- they are reigning champs three weeks in a row. She doesn't want to brag, but she is definitely a large part of that. She and Wells played trivial pursuit fairly often with her Dad. Her head is full of random facts.

She doesn't begin to worry until he asks her about her back. They’re making out on his couch, per usual, and his hand slides up her hip and move inward. That's something he hasn't done, not since the first time they hooked up and she flinches away. The reaction is very much the same, she jerks away uncomfortably and effectively ruins the moment.

“Is your back okay?” he pulls away, brow furrowed in concern. She slides from his lap and shrinks into the corner. Even in all the times they've fucked, he's never seen it. He's never seen the long, dark scar contrasting her pale skin.

“It's fine,” she whispers and she hates how pathetic she sounds. He places a light touch to her wrist -- she hadn't realized she had closed herself in on the couch, wrapped herself in a tight ball like she's cowering from something.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “You can talk to me, you know.”

She hates the way her heart flutters at that, how her body instinctively relaxes at the sound of his voice, calm and caring. That's too much. She leaves him that night with a kiss on the cheek, a “thank you but I can't” sort of gesture. He gets it, or seems to, because he doesn't push. Just reminds her to let him know she got home safe. It's clear as day, how fucked up things have gotten, but she refuses to see it. Friends, that's all it is. He really cares about his friends.   
*  
Things go from fucked to royally fucked almost three weeks into the initial arrangement. She skips the library that Wednesday to hang out with her mom who, shockingly, managed to get a day off. They go to breakfast and shop around town. She’s strangely attentive, asking if she’s nervous for school and how she can help her prepare. They even buy some dorm things while they’re out, particularly a really nice bedspread (she’s into that shit, okay?). She finds that it isn’t a terrible experience and it feels almost like they have a normal relationship. They don’t talk about med school or her mom’s job even once. She supposes it’s her mom’s way of making up for her sudden departure. According to her, some conference popped up and she has to be there. She doesn’t ask for the details, except when she’ll be back. She has the rest of the week to herself, which she isn’t complaining. Not like she’s there much anymore, anyway..

After dropping her things back at the apartment and sending her mom off in a cab with the reassurance that she would definitely not trash the apartment, she changes into the dress she had bought, a blue and white striped cotton dress with an A-neckline and heads out for the night. She picked it because the weather had been miserably hot and she couldn’t stand to keep wearing jeans when she was sweating her ass off. Also, it may or may not have made her boobs look amazing and lately, well, she just enjoys dressing up a little more.

She gets to the Ark around six and greets the familiar group as she slides into the booth. Gina pats her on the back and Miller tips his beer towards her. It isn’t until trivia begins that she realizes Bellamy hasn’t shown up yet. He normally rolls in right before it starts but no one seems to be expecting him and come to think of it, they haven’t spoken at all today. She’d been tied up and he had been working, though even then he usually sends a text or two to tell her about what she’s missing.

“Is Bellamy not coming?” she asks and she’s met with apprehensive stares. Harper looks at her drink like it’s the most interesting thing in the world while the others glance at Miller.

“What happened?” she feels herself start to panic for a moment. Surely if something bad happened to him, they wouldn’t all be at fucking trivia.

“He’s fine,” Miller reassures her and takes a long sip. He’s stalling. She knows because she’s the queen of stalling.

“What don’t I know?”

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” Gina comments and Harper follows suit, leaving her and Miller alone in the booth.

“Miller…”she eggs him on. Clearly there’s something but he doesn’t want her to know what.

“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you, okay?”

It’s not an answer she expects and it isn’t like he says it harshly, but it seems to give her whiplash all the same. She understands what he’s saying, though. It’s personal and the whole point of them is to not get personal. Miller has definitely been made aware of their...arrangement. She doesn’t mean to be loud when he’s home, but Bellamy really knows how to work her and sometimes she can’t help it.

“Okay.” and that’s all she can say really. She won’t push it any further because she has no right. She knows he’s alive and healthy and that’s all that matters. She finishes trivia with them and they come in fourth. None of them were particularly into it this week and. It's about time someone else won. They’re about to head back to Harper’s for their pizza and beer Netflix marathon but she decides to head out. She’s not much in the mood for pizza and admittedly, it would feel weird to be there without Bellamy. It shouldn't, she considers them all friends, but she knows it would. They don’t push her and she calls an Uber to take her back to the apartment. For the first time in almost two months she finds herself going home by nine p.m.

The apartment is eerily quiet, especially knowing her mom won’t be there for the next five days. It feels empty. She turns on the big screen for some noise, throwing on reruns of the Office to try and perk up the place. She heats up some leftover lasagna that her mom made earlier in the week and plops onto the couch. Still not feeling quite satisfied and frankly, a bit lonely, she calls her Dad. When he answers, she immediately feels bad because he sounds exhausted and she had probably woke him up. She just tells him she misses him and loves him, letting him get back to sleep. He doesn’t protest that. She shoots a text to Raven to see if she’s busy. When she says she's available, Clarke opts for FaceTime.

“Hello, stranger,” Raven says cheerily from her end of the phone. She looks like she’s just rolled out of bed, hair sticking out at awkward angles and eyes squinting to adjust to the light she had turned on.

“Did I wake you up, Grandma?” she retorts and Raven rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Says the girl who spends free time at the library.”

She snorts, “Yeah, but that was so I could get laid.”

Raven’s eyes widen at that, “Tell me everything!”

She does. She tells her all about Bellamy and their, er, friendship.. She thought it would feel strange to talk about it, especially as the girl who had broke up Raven’s last relationship (unintentional, but still). But Raven listens intently, even smiling when Clarke tells her all about how good it is.

“He's good in bed, huh?” she asks with a grin.

“Definitely,” She confirms. And he really is. Attentive and selfless, always making sure she gets off at least once but goes the extra mile to make it twice. He also tends to talk nasty with her which has become one of her favorite things.

As if on cue, her phone buzzes in her hand. A text drops down from the top and Bellamy’s name pops up.

“Hang on,” she tells her friend and opens the text. It’s short and to the point.

Bellamy: you home?

She types a quick reply before switching back to FaceTime.

Clarke: yep

“So friends with benefits, huh?” Raven muses aloud before turning serious, “Are you okay with that?”

“Absolutely,” She answers automatically, “He's cool and I like hanging out with him. He's also great in bed. But at the end of the day he doesn't have to know anything about me I don't want him to.”

Raven sighs, “And this doesn't have anything to do with Finn?”

“Raven,” She warns but the girl cuts her off.

“Just hear me out. I know we haven't talked about it much but I know you cared about him and he broke your heart. I know it takes a lot for you to trust someone and you're afraid to do that again…”

Her phone vibrates and interrupts Ravens totally inappropriate (though somewhat accurate) monologue about her fear of dating.

Bellamy: i need you

As far as texts go, it’s the most candid he’s ever been with her. Normally they don’t text each other for booty calls late at night, or really in general. They’re together quite a bit and they usually end up back at his place on those days. Yet, his text his pretty straightforward. He’s bootycalling her and she isn’t opposed, except this time they don’t have to worry about making Miller’s ears bleed.

                           Clarke: mom’s gone for a couple of days if you want a change of scenery.

She doesn’t even get to close her messages before he replies.

                                                                                           Bellamy: be there in 10.

“Wow, thanks for ignoring me. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“I'm sorry,” she gives her an apologetic smile, “I hear what you're saying and you're right, I'm still reluctant to trust other people. But Raven, you know it's more than that.”

It's not wanting to depend on other people. It's still dealing with the grief of losing her best friend. Of reconciling her guilt. It's her inevitable move to a different city, a place to start over. She's in limbo right now. The best thing she can offer in the way of emotional attachments extends to Raven and her Dad.

“I know.”

She and Raven continue to talk, mostly about her job at the shop and how much she hates her boss. She's sticking it through because the experience will look good on her resume but she is definitely ready for a new job.

She almost forgets she's expecting someone until the doorbell rings.

“Isn’t it like almost ten up there?” Raven asks squinting into the camera, “Who the hell is out this late?”

She just grins at the camera and Raven rolls her eyes, “Ugh. Go get laid or whatever. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

She beams, “Love you, Reyes.”

“Yeah, you too, Griffin.”

She opens the door as she hangs up, the blanket drooping from her shoulders. She barely gets a good look at him before his hands are on her face and he’s pushing her back with a ferocious kiss. She manages to kick the door shut as they stumble back into the wall. His hands are everywhere. Her ass, her waist, her hair. She doesn’t mind. She likes when he’s a bit rough (a kink they discovered not long into their sexual relationship). He pins her hands to the wall and runs his tongue along her throat and collarbone.

“Bellamy,” she groans as he presses into her, his want for her already very much obvious. Her hip hits the foyer table and she has to throw her hand out to catch the vase that began to tilt.

“As much as I’d love to be taken against the wall, I don’t feel like explaining to my mom why her vases are broken,” she manages to get out as his hand grazes her through her underwear, very much under the dress she's been wearing.

He lets her move away from the wall and she takes his hand, guiding him to the guest bedroom. While she’d be fine against the wall or even on the couch, it feels weird to do it on her mom’s furniture. At least she can change the sheets on the bed. When she pulls him into the bedroom, he’s on her again before she can react. She allows him to yank the dress over her head before they fall onto the bed, a flurry of limbs and lips. He shucks his own clothes rather quickly, making sure to grab the condom from his wallet before tossing it all to the side. Even in the rough quiet of it all, he still throws a leg over his shoulder and goes down on her. His mouth is forceful, burying into her like can’t get close enough and it’s fierce enough to bring one of the most intense orgasms of her life. He doesn’t even wait for her to finish before he flips on her on her stomach and enters her from behind. It’s one of her favorite positions and he knows it. The angle hits all of her best spots and gives him the best leverage to go as deep as possible.

“Fuck, yes!” she moans into the darkness and he grips her ass tightly as he pounds into her. He slides one hand into her hair and tugs on it, not forcefully but just hard enough to cause her to cry out in pleasure.Within minutes she’s screaming his name a second time. Part of what makes being with Bellamy addicting is that somehow, he gets her off quicker and more times than anyone. It’s not uncommon for her to cum twice and three times on a good day. He’s fucking talented.

Tonight is a good night for her. Though it’s the least vocal he’s ever been, the bedroom absent of his normal expletives and dirty talk, he still lets out low moans and it’s enough for her at this point. She’s on the cusp of cumming for a third time when she finally feels him pick up pace and stiffen inside her. As if knowing she had almost reached the third peak, he pulls out but reaches around her and rubs at the nub between her legs. Her entire body begins to tremble under his hand, but with the magic touch he’s able to push her over the edge one more time.

They collapse next to each other, their breaths ragged and the intensity of the moment hanging in the air. By the time her lust filled haze is gone, she realizes he hasn’t spoken a single word and that bothers her. More than that, it worries her.

“Bellamy?” she questions softly and she feels him stiffen in the bed. She moves a hand over carefully, grazing his wrist with her fingertips as a semblance of comfort. Something is wrong. She can feel it.

“Talk to me,” her voice is gentle. She doesn’t want to push him. She doesn’t want to force him in revealing parts of himself he doesn’t want to. They set boundaries and she, of all people, should respect them.

“I’m okay,” his voice is broken, not in a sad way but like it’s hoarse from lack of use. It’s not a believable statement by any means.

“You can talk to me, you know?” she’s mirroring his same sentiments when she had showed up at his house unannounced to unload her personal baggage in a moment of weakness. It's opening the floor up for something dangerous, she knows, but if they’re going to be friends, she has to offer support of some kind. It seems big, bigger than something sex can fix.

He turns his palm over, where her fingers had been idly moving and grips them in his hand. His voice is softer when he speaks. Vulnerable, “I know.”

He knows. He isn’t ready, at least, not right now. So instead of pressing, she moves over and nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck. Instinctively, his arm moves behind her. They lay there, just like that. Naked. Together.

And that’s how they manage to break two rules in one night.

*

When she wakes up the following morning she becomes acutely aware of two things. She is still very much naked and there is a heavy arm currently weighing down on her waist. She should feel guilty for letting him stay and crossing one of the few boundaries they had, but he had made the choice to stay. As long as they’re on the same page about things, she thinks, then they have nothing to worry about.

She grabs her phone off the nightstand to check the time and at first it doesn’t register how late it is, but then as she’s scrolling through Facebook, she realizes that it’s a weekday. Ten a.m on a weekday.

She places a hand on his shoulder, gripping the muscle gently, and shakes, “Bellamy?”

He stirs, eyes twitching but not opening.

She shakes a little harder this time, “Bell?”

He grunts in response, “That’s what my sister calls me. It’s weird.”

So he has a sister. That’s interesting, she thinks. She’s curious, but keeps her thoughts to herself.

“You have a really exhausting name to say,” she replies instead.

He opens his eyes and she gives him a guilty smile, “You realize you’re late for work?”

If he cares at all, he doesn’t show it. He slides his arm down her side and onto her thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before closing his eyes again.

“Unless you just said fuck their books and quit?” she questions and he shakes his head.

“I have the rest of the week off.”

“Lucky you,” she says innocently and his eyes open again, a strange emotion flickering across. He quickly composes himself.

“Seriously,” concern creeping into her otherwise neutral voice, “Are you okay?”

He sighs, like he would really like her to stop asking but she can’t help it. Something is clearly off with him. It doesn’t take a genius to know that.

“You really wanna know?”

She shrugs, not wanting to push him,“That’s up to you. Do you really wanna tell me?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, “I think so.”

They're lying face to face, and she brushes a curl from his eye before letting her hand fall to rest on his cheek, stroking at the newly formed stubble. He takes a deep breath, trying to allow her touch to soothe him.

“My mom died,” he tells her and she freezes, “I mean, yesterday was the anniversary. It’s been four years.”

There’s never a right thing to say in these moments, so she decides to keep it simple, “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

He shakes his head, “It still hits me, even now. She had gone out to the grocery to grab some stuff and it was raining. I guess on the way home she lost control of the car...:”

She lets him take as long as he needs to fill the silence, stroking his arms with her nails, offering comfort in the best way she can, “I just feel guilty about it. She had gone to get stuff for me, to celebrate going to school and what not.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers stupidly. She’s sure he knows that but it still feels necessary to say.

“I know,” he gives her a half-smile, “But after she died, I told my sister I would take care of her. My sister, my responsibility. She’s younger than me and she needed me.”

She stays quiet, knowing it’s not reassurance he’s looking for but someone to listen. She can give him that.

“And instead I chose to go off to college while she had to stay with a family friend.”

She can hear the guilt in his voice, the way it seems to weigh heavy on him, “Is she happy there?”

He nods and she gives him a reassuring squeeze, “I bet she’s so happy to see you doing something for yourself.”

“She is. At least, that’s what she tells me. But I still feel guilty, you know?”

“Yeah,” she answers truthfully, “I know.”

He doesn’t say anything else and for a moment she thinks he fell back asleep. But the he reaches up and runs his thumb along her cheek, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she responds immediately. And he doesn’t. She’s glad she could help, even if was just being an outlet for his emotion.

“I was rough,” he moves his thumb down to her wrist were a small, faint bruise has appeared. She’s comfortable with it. She is a consenting adult and she, admittedly, likes it a bit rough.

“You know I like it that way,” she smiles and she feels the tension start to slowly dissipate.

“True,” he responds. They lie together and she thinks about bringing up the fact that staying the night was violation of boundaries but he interrupts her.

“Does your mom keep food here or does she survive on take-out like you?”

She laughs, “She’s probably got something. But you’re cooking. Unless toast is enough for you. I’m a shit cook.”

They get dressed and wander into the kitchen. She sits on the counter as he cooks and they talk idly about his best memories of his mom and she tells him a bit about her own family. It’s strange because she still doesn’t even know his last name. Doesn’t know his birthday, but she knows some of his deepest secrets. She’s seen him at his most vulnerable.

She can feel the third rule withering away, cracking beneath everything they’ve done, beneath the weight of their longing stares, damage from every touch they share. She doesn't know it yet, but they're creating a perfect storm and perfect storms have to make landfall eventually.

*

She should put a stop to it. She should send him home that afternoon if only to keep their boundaries firmly in place. Letting him stay the night was a fluke, something she did because he is her friend and he needed comfort. It won’t happen again, she tells herself.

They go out that night for their weekly karaoke get together and things are relatively normal. She joins Miller for their amazing rendition Tango Maureen from Rent. Bellamy sings his usual (a dramatic interpretation of Losing my Religion), and when Harper shows up with Roma, she introduces Clarke as a friend. Everyone’s friend. But when the night ends, and they go their separate ways, she finds herself asking if he wants to walk her home. He agrees and they wake up the next morning the same way they did the day before.

They spend the entire five days like that. Every day she wakes up and reminds herself that she can’t get used to this, that she needs to be careful. But then she stumbles into the kitchen and he’s got a fresh pot of coffee ready and is sitting at the counter reading the newspaper and it’s like she can’t breathe. She can’t do anything because his glasses are sliding down his nose and his forehead is creased in concentration and he’s filling in the crossword puzzle. She blows him just like that, in the middle of the kitchen, and he tells her he needs a shower and once again they’re tangled up in one another and the day is half over before they’re even ready to leave the apartment. They start finding excuses not to.

It rains on Saturday so they spend their time indoors on the couch, binging Netflix documentaries while he rattles off interesting facts about the time period or becomes so engaged that he doesn’t say a word throughout the entire thing. She never knows how it’s going to go, but she finds herself enjoying it either way. He manages to find something for them to eat, cooking a random assortment of ingredients left around the house and making them a meal. It’s probably the first time she’s had three consecutive meals since she was younger.

“Where did you learn to cook?” she can’t help but ask, curious to know how he manages to come up with a dish with a random assortment of items.

He’s stirring a pot of noodles while she sits on the counter next to him. He squeezes her leg affectionately, “My mom wasn’t around much growing up. I was usually in charge of making sure my sister ate.”

It’s another clip of who he is, some other piece of the puzzle she’s been collecting over time. He never reveals much, the most he’s ever told her had been the first night, the anniversary of his mom's death. But she catches small tidbits -- his sister is four years younger than him and he cares about her more than anyone in the world, sometimes he feels guilty about going off to college and leaving her in their hometown. Much of him is still a mystery and she’s glad to keep it that way. What she’s afraid of is that if he reveals to much of himself, she won’t be ready to walk away. What she’s more afraid of is that she might already be there.

That same night, in the midst of their documentary marathon, they end up watching one about the porn industry and find themselves arguing about the pros and cons of porn.

“It gives unrealistic expectations!” she is saying over the movie as a younger woman with a very large, and evidently fake, chest is speaking, “That’s not what sex is like in real life!”

“I think you’re having sex with the wrong people,” he challenges and he gives her mischievous smile.

“So you’re telling me that this is usually what sex is like for you?” she asks, gesturing to the current scene flashing across the screen. It’s a clip of one of the dramatic pornos, the kind that start with shitty dialogue and contain overly compensating moans. The girl on the screen is cleaning floors in a maids outfit, the kind of outfit seen often on Halloween in an effort to get laid. The guy comes in and starts beating it right in front of her and tells her to “clean it”. It’s fucking weird and she has no idea how people get off to this.

“You’ve never had sexual fantasies before?”

They never finish the documentary. She mentions her fantasy of being dominant, tying someone up and just wrecking their body. He volunteers to be her test subject very quickly. She’s hesitant at first, suddenly feeling self-conscious about what she does and how she does it. But then he whispers how much he wants her in her ear, sending shiver of anticipation down her spine and she can’t control it. They make due with what’s lying around the house (mostly belts she packed in her suitcase) and she doesn’t think she’ll ever experience anything like it again. She taunts him, hovering over his mouth so he can smell her and almost graze his tongue along her dripping cunt and he is begging for her by the time she gives it to him. She cums to the sound of him pleading her name as she rides him, her ass smacking against his thighs. It's the closest thing to heaven she thinks she'll ever get.

For him, he tells her his fantasy always involves a beach. They leave the apartment that night, backpacks filled with flashlights and blankets and make their way to Carson Beach. It's empty and he takes her to his favorite spot, one he says he comes to when he needs to clear his head because it has the best view of the galaxy. The sand is still wet from the afternoon storm, but the sky is filled with a million shining stars and he fucks her, slow and gentle, and they sink into the sand together.

He tells her about his favorite constellations. To her, they're abstract stars-- balls of gas suspended in space and time. But he rattles off their names, telling her the history behind each one. Some hold deep meaning, she learns. Deriving from Greek mythology and Latin history. Others are simple. She finds her favorite one he tells her about is the one whose name means swan. She isn’t sure how long they spend like that, but it's late when they shuffle home and finally fall into bed together to sleep.

He goes quickly, his soft breathing turned to gentle snores almost as soon as he hits the pillow. She lies awake, wondering just how much longer she'll be able to pretend she hasn't already broken rule three.

It's a restless sleep and she gives up once she sees sunlight begins to peek in between her blinds. Bellamy remains fast asleep, his arms pillows under his head and the muscles of his bare back flexing with every breath.

She slips out from next to him, pulling on the sweatshirts draped around the chair. She moves to sit in the desk next to them, pulling her sketchpad from its forgotten place in the drawer. She wants to remember him like this, she decides, all sharp edges and beautiful angles. He really is something to behold, beautiful on the outside and on the inside.

She draws him as he is, lying on his stomach with the covers falling off his hips but covering the more delicate parts of him. She works the charcoal onto the page, sketching each detail as best as she can, trying to get everything right. His curls, each defined line of his body, even the small dimples that grace his lower back. She’s still working diligently when she hears him stir.

“Don’t move,” she tells him, eyes remaining glued to her paper as she tries to get his hair perfected.

“Should I be worried?” he asks warily. She glances up to see him starting to push himself up. She flips the sketch around to show him.

“I’m almost finished,” she huffs, “Don’t move.”

He settles into his previous position as demanded, “So demanding.”

She responds with a simple hum, scratching into the paper with precision and concentration like never before. Another ten minutes pass before she tosses her charcoal down with finality. She’s quite proud of her finished product and shows it to him. He grabs the sketchpad from her hands and examines it, his thumb brushing over the portrait reverently.

“It’s amazing, Clarke,” he compliments her quietly and she nearly blushes. She’s never been great at receiving compliments on her art, maybe because it's always been so personal to her.

“Can I?”he asks, moving the page for permission to look. Perhaps it's her pre-coffee fog, or maybe something more, but she nods without thinking.

“Seriously,” he says when he comes across a landscape of the park she had done. She spent the entire morning on it when she drew it, “These are really good. Why aren’t you doing it professionally or something?”

She scoffs, “They aren’t that good.”

He sits up at that, completely comfortable being naked in front of her, having her sketchpad the only thing covering his lower region. It’s a funny sight, but the laughter dies in her throat. He’s looking at her like she holds the sky and the moon and it’s fucking terrifying.

“I told you, they're amazing. You’re amazing.”

She feels heat rise in her cheeks and has to look away, the intensity of it all making her slightly uncomfortable. She knows she's good but it's still strange to hear people say it. She's still not looking at him when his breath hitches.

“Wow, this one is really good.” He breathes and when she sees which one he's talking about, she feels like she might throw up. It's one closer to the front of the sketch pad, one she drew not long after Wells’ death. It's him at the wheel of his car, his soft smile and kind eyes.

“Who is he?” Bellamy asks and there is nothing but genuine curiosity. He has no idea, maybe thinks it's a former boyfriend or something. Just wonders who one of her subjects was. He flips the page and there is another. And another. She can't breathe.

“Clarke?” He asks and she hadn't even realized she had begun gasping for air. Fuck. Fuck. It's been so long since she's had one of these.

She shakes her head at him but he lays the sketch pad down and crawls over to her. She lets him pull her to his chest and stroke her hair, “It's okay, you're okay.”

She's trying to take deep breaths but they're shallow and raspy.

“Breathe with me,” he commands and begins taking long, deep breaths. She listens, tries to follow. His hand is stroking her hair softly and she tries to focus. She's here with Bellamy, he just asked a question. Just an innocent question. Get a grip, Griffin.

It takes a couple of minutes but she feels her heartbeat slow down, her breathing even out. He's patient with her, holding her close even though she knows this position can't be comfortable for him. When she pulls away, she finds it hard to look at him. She's embarrassed because her entire facade had been wrecked. Now he's seen her, seen her greatest weakness. Seem her vulnerability.

“Sorry about that,” she whispers, scooting to the edge of the bed, “I...just...sorry.”

“Hey,” he plays a hand in between her shoulder blades and rubs soothingly, “I've been there, don't worry about it. I'm sorry I asked,”

“You shouldn't be,” she says without thinking. She pauses for a moment. She never wanted to cross this line with him. With anyone, really. But she just had a fucking panic attack in front of him. He probably thinks she's crazy, especially knowing that it was because of a sketch. And at this point, maybe this is what she needs. Maybe she needs to talk about it because lord knows keeping it pent up isn't exactly healthy.

“You don't have to talk about it,” he tells her firmly, “Don't feel like you do.”

She takes a shaky breath, “I want to, I think.”

She grabs the sketch pad from the bed and runs her fingertips along the portrait. This could be therapeutic. She trusts him.

“He was my best friend,” she says softly. She doesn't want to look at him, it's easier not to. Just like talking into an empty space and he just so happens to be listening, “He died this past year. He died and it was my fault.”

She tells him the entire sob story. About the party, about walking in on Finn and Raven. She leaves out most of the grueling details of the accident, but she tells him of survivors guilt. She knows he gets it in a twisted way.

“They thought I wouldn't be able to walk again,” she scoffs at that, “It feels fucked up. Like not only did I live but made a full recovery. At least if I hadn't recovered, it would feel like I was punished in some way.”

To his credit, he listened to the entire story without interruption. He kept his hand on her back as he did, but this time he responds quickly, “It's not your fault, Clarke.”

She almost smiles at that, especially knowing his own guilt often weighs him down, “I know that. Most days.”

He's thoughtful for a moment, “Is that why you don't drink?”

Pointless to lie about it now, isn't it? She nods, “I can't drink the pain away. Believe me I've tried.”

“We all cope in our own ways,” he replies, “But for what it's worth, I'm happy you don't use alcohol to do it.”

No. She uses people. It brings a whole new guilt to the equation. But they're having an intimate conversation now, might as well clear the table.

“But you're happy I used you?”

It's quiet for a moment, almost too quiet. She thinks maybe she overstepped, revealed too much and now he's going to take off on her. But suddenly he laughs, soft and she turns to face him.

“I can't exactly be mad at that,” he tells her when she gives him a confused look, “I was doing the same thing.”

It's not a shocking revelation, yet she's surprised to hear it all the same. But then she actually cracks a smile as well, “We’re just two peas in a fucking pod aren't we?”

They fall into a comfortable silence. She feels lighter now, somehow. Talking about everything was hard but cathartic. Needed. For the first time she thinks someone might get it, and Bellamy does. He knows pain and loss. He knows guilt, but most of all, he doesn't judge her for any of it. It feels good.

“Thank you,” she says, finally turning to him with a soft smile.

He picks the sketch pad up and flips through it some more, “Anytime, and seriously, these are all amazing. Your friend would be proud of you.”

She takes the sketchpad from him and climbs into his lap, giving him a deep kiss. His hands wrap around her instinctively, “I appreciate you saying that.”

He smiles, “And you can draw me like one of your french girls anytime.”

“Nice,” she giggles into his neck grateful for the natural change into their usual banter, “Quoting one of your least favorite movies.”

“All I said is that it wasn’t entirely accurate in how it sank,” he sighs, clearly perturbed by the way James Cameron chose to wreck the boat. The funny thing is, he really does get upset about it sometimes.

“I seriously can’t stand you,” she tells him with a shake of her head and he laughs, sliding his hand up the back of her shirt to rest on her back. She doesn't flinch this time.

“Don’t lie, Princess,” the old nickname falling easily off his tongue, a teasing lilt to it. She leans up and kisses him, pressing herself into him.

“I hate you,” she sighs when he begins to run his lips over her exposed neck, “You’re the worst.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbles, pulling his shirt off her, leaving her fully exposed once more. His hands travel over her slowly, like they’re trying to memorize every inch of her. She threads her fingers into his hair, raking her fingernails over his neck, something she knows drives him crazy.

“I hate you, too,” he states before pulling her into a slow kiss.

It’s a strange exchange, and somewhere deep in her mind she knows they don’t mean it. In fact, it’s like they’re trying to tell each other something without saying it. They weren’t supposed to fall in love, but she's never been one to follow rules.

*

Clarke can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Her mom returns home and seems tired, but more than that she seems sad. She takes the rest of the week off to spend time with Clarke, leaving her ability to do much else limited. She wants to see Bellamy, but she tells herself they need a break. He needs a break, though he makes no indication of it. He texts her more frequently, even asking how her day is going with her mom. He doesn't know much, but knows their relationship is strained and awkward at best.

But her mom is putting in an effort. She's offered to take her to a baseball game, knowing Clarke had always been a fan and they actually have fun together. Turns out her mom isn't completely clueless when it comes to sports. She even helps order her textbooks online with no mention of her course schedule and it's lack of biology classes. She's happy that they're trying to build some semblance of a relationship but her gut is telling her it isn't right. She tries to ask if she's okay, and she pulls out her Dr. GRIFFIN voice and explains she's simply exhausted.

She manages to sneak away at the end of the week and finds herself at Bellamy's house. He pulls her into a hug when he opens the door and she knows exactly what he's saying. He missed her. Miller hangs out for awhile before drifting off to bed, requesting they keep it down that night. She blushes and curls into Bellamy’s side, fixing her attention on the move they're watching.

“I can't tonight,” she buries her face in his shoulder once Miller leaves the room.

“Hmm?” his attention is focused on the big budget fight scene. Marvel is his guilty pleasure, she's discovered.

“Sex…” she says sheepishly, “It's..I’m on my period.”

He finally turns to focus on her and rolls his eyes, playfully poking her in the ribs, “That's it. Get out. How dare you?”

She presses her hand against his forehead and gives it a small push with a laugh, feeling instantly less embarrassed about the whole thing.

“There was a time where we used to hang out without the sex, Clarke,” he pulls her into his lap and she finds her favorite crook in neck to rest. Her body relaxes instantly.

“I don't recall,” she mumbles. Her eyes fall closed listening to the sound of his heartbeat. His hand is tracing idle circles on her back and it feels like everything is right in the world.

*

  
It doesn't take long for reality to hit her like a bucket of cold water. She’s eating breakfast with her mom when he sends her a text about an art contest and tells her she should enter. He even offers to be her model. She sends him back something snarky, complete with the eye roll emoji. He responds instantly.  
Bellamy: Just encouraging you to follow your dreams, Princess.

It's like the winds is knocked out of her when she Reads it.

She fucking loves him.

She doesn’t come to the conclusion on her own. It comes to her in flashes but when she finally meets up with Harper for their neglected coffee and walk meet up, she finally realizes the extent of it all. They’re talking about her and Roma, who she’s been dating since their hookup on Gina’s birthday.

“I’m just not cut out for one night stands,” Harper concludes.

“They aren’t for everyone,” she consoles the girl on this and they laugh about it. It’s when Harper asks about Bellamy that things become serious.

“I know you guys are hooking up,” she chooses her words carefully, “But...I don’t know, Clarke, it seems like a lot more than you all are making it out to be.”

Her heart thuds in her chest, “What do you mean?”

You know what she means, a small voice tells her. It’s the same one she’s been trying to ignore for weeks now.

“I’ve never seen Bellamy this way with anyone,” she admits, watching Clarke warily, “I mean, the way he acts around you. He’s hooked up with plenty of people before, but nothing like this.”

“Like this?” she echoes.

“He’s...I don't know,” she says, frustration evident in her voice, “Just be careful, okay? I know you all are just supposed to be having fun or whatever, but it feels like more than that.”

She doesn’t say anything, instead picking at the coffee cup in her hands and doing her best to keep her breathing even. It doesn’t surprise her. In fact, she knows Harper is right. IT does feel like more than that and it has for a long time. The lust aspect had been their primary driving force in the beginning. They pleasured each other and were comfortable enough to continue doing it. But then it got personal, on both sides. She wants to know more about him and she wants him to know more about her. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment her feelings changed. Maybe they’ve been there all along, buried deep in denial and her want to just let loose for the summer. This wasn’t the plan. And yet it happened.

“Thanks, Harper,” she tells the girl, hoping she sounds neutral. While Harper might be right, she definitely doesn’t want her to know that. It’s a conversation she needs to have with Bellamy. She’s going to tell him how she feels because it’s the right thing to do. They’re supposed to end it because she got feelings, but she’s hoping maybe they can change that. Maybe he feels the same and they won’t have to end it at all. Maybe they can start a new beginning.

Now, all she has to do is figure out the right time.

**August 2013**

The right time never comes. He ends up going to visit his sister the last week of July and she’s actually happy about it. It gives her time to figure out what to say, how to approach the subject in the best way she can. She knows she’s probably overthinking it, it’s what she does, but she has to tell him. She knows the first thing she should do is lay out all the basic stuff first.

“I’m Clarke Griffin, I’m 18, and I have an irrational fear of getting attached to people but I got attached to you.”

That’s what she wants to say but she knows there has to be a better way to phrase it, though he tends to be more personable when she’s up front with him. She didn’t intend to come to Boston and meet someone like him, but fate had other plans. Fate is a stone cold bitch.

She feels like she finally has it figured out by the time he returns and asks him to meet her in front of the library that Monday night when he returns. SHe’s hoping if she tells him in public, he’ll be less liable to freak out. Rejection is easier to handle in public than private, in her opinion. She’s less likely to let her emotions get the best of her in public, that is.

She never makes it to the library that night. As she’s getting ready in her room, she hears her mom come through the front door. It’s a strange time for her to be getting home from work, normally working a solid 12 hour shift, at least. It’s only now coming up on her usual eighth hour. She walks into the living room and freezes. Standing in the foyer is none other than Jake Griffin.

“Dad?”

He gives her a tired smile and holds out his arms. She runs into them, feeling overwhelmed by how much she really did miss him. She knows he’s been working a lot lately and hasn’t been able to talk to him as much.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice muffled by his shoulder. It feels a little bonier than she remembers.

“Came to see you,” he tells her as he pulls back, “I missed you, kiddo.”

She should have realized something was wrong, the way her mom watched the exchange with tears in her eyes, the way Jake Griffin, former elite soccer player and college wrestler, seemed so fragile. Their reunion is short lived.

“We need to talk, Clarke,” he tells her softly when she notices her mom standing at the door. She follows them into the living room and sits down. Her dad keeps her hand firmly in his, rubbing soothing circles into her knuckles.

“Is everything okay?” she questions when they sit down, worry lacing every inch of her voice. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, a ledge or a cliff, and is close to being dropped off. Her head is swimming.

“I’m sick, baby.”

Things become hazy after that. He tells her something about having headaches and finally going to the doctor after she left for Boston in May. He was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Inoperable. The doctors gave him six months to live, and that’s with treatment.

“They’re wrong,” she cries, refusing to believe that he could possibly be so close to the end, “There has to be something they can do.”

Her mom finally speaks, “There isn’t. We’ve gotten multiple opinions.”

She feels anger start to swell within her, a fire ready to burn everything in its wake, “You knew?”

Jake sighs, “She came to visit me a couple of weeks ago. Took me to some fancy specialists she knew. They confirmed it.”

She stands from the couch, her entire body beginning to shake, “You can’t...this can’t.”

“Clarke,” he stands, his voice cracking with her name, “Look at me.”

Her frantic eyes find his own, her own blue irises staring back at her, “I need you.”

He holds her in his arms as she cries, and it feels like the ground is slowly cracking beneath her. Her father is dying and there isn’t anything anyone can do. She can’t be sure how long they sit like that, him cradling her to his chest like a child, her mom sitting next to her, a hand firmly on her knee. It’s the first time they’ve been together as a family in five years and it’s because one of them is dying.

When the tears no longer fall, when her brain feels numb and he body exhausted, she leans up.

“I want to stay with you,” she tells him, her mind already made up, “Every step of the way.”

She tells him she’ll defer school for a year, so she can go to every appointment and take him wherever he needs to go. She wants to spend as much time as possible with him because on day, he won’t be there anymore. Her parents try to talk her out of it, try to tell her school will be the best thing for her but she won’t listen.

“I won’t be able to concentrate on fucking anatomy while you lay at home withering away,” she says bluntly and they don’t argue anymore. It’s late when she finally shuffles into her room and climbs into bed. Her mom is planning on taking him to a few more doctors tomorrow, just to confirm there are no treatment options available for him to at least give him more time. Even despite their divorce, she can tell her mom still cares for him deeply and she is just as distraught about his death as she is.

His death. It’s inevitable for everyone, it’s part of living. But it hurts all the same. How is she supposed to move on with life knowing the most important person in it won’t be there? She can’t fathom it.

*

She has four missed calls and seventeen text messages when she wakes up. She had turned her phone on silent before passing out last night, reluctant to talk to anyone or even hear her phone go off. All of the missed calls are from Bellamy, no doubt worried she got kidnapped on the way to the library. They always joke about it, though it’s a pretty fucked up thing to joke about. The texts are from a flurry of people. Raven drunk texting about her stupid boss. The others are from Bellamy and his friends. Even Miller all just asking if she’s okay, probably in the hopes that she’ll respond to one of them and they can conclude she simply ditched Bellamy and is still alive. She doesn’t feel alive.

She opens the texts to get rid of the notification. Miller asking if she's good. Harper asking her to call her. Bellamy freaking out in his typical fashion.

5:45pm: I’m here. You close?  
5:57 pm: Tried to call you. You okay?  
6:15pm: seriously clarke, you’re never this late at least let me know you’re alive  
7 pm: if you don’t answer me i’m coming by your house  
7:03pm: Miller said that’s really creepy and I shouldn’t so I won’t. But please answer me so I can stop thinking you're dead. We joked one too many times about the kidnapping thing.  
9pm: i’m worried. Please be okay. Please.

She doesn’t answer him. She gets out of bed and wanders out into the living room. Her parents are awake, chatting over a cup of coffee like it’s just another normal day. It isn’t. There won’t be a normal day ever again.

*  
It's an appropriately gloomy day in Boston, rain constantly coming down as morning fades into afternoon. They're sitting in the waiting room of her mom's hospital. Her dad is being looked over, no doubt being told the same thing he's been told four different times. Her hopes aren't high and she feels strangely empty. Notifications continue to pop up on her phone and she turns it on silent. She's almost ready to launch it out the window.

She isn't sure how long she stays there but it's dinner time when they shuffle into the apartment. Her parents ask her what she wants for dinner. She just goes to bed. Her phone is off and things are so quiet.

She cries herself to sleep wondering how, when things seem to be getting better, they could possibly get worse?  
*  
They book the earliest flight home, which isn't until tomorrow evening, it feels so far away. They talk with her mom about care and the woman desperately tries to convince her ex-husband to get treatment. Clarke listens for approximately a half hour before she stands abruptly from the table.

“Clarke?” Her mom calls. Without thinking she slips on her shoes, grabs her bag, and heads out the door.

It's crazy to her how normal things felt for the last few weeks, how life seemed to be on track and the grief began to feel natural rather than suffocating. It's not fair, not to her. Not to her father. Not to Bellamy. Especially not to him.

She's at his house before she even realizes where she's going. It feels fucked up to show up after almost four days of radio silence. He probably thought she was dead, or ghosting him. He didn't deserve it but she didn't know what else to do. Doesn't know what else to do. He deserves more than some girl who fucks her way through grief. Who can't give him anything more. The saddest part is that she could have. She was so willing. But now? Everything is different now.

Before she can think anymore, she knocks softly. She probably should have at least texted first to make sure he's home. It's late evening and he's typically off work by now, but he doesn't always come home after work. She wouldn't blame him for not answering either. But she can't leave without saying goodbye, no matter how terrible a goodbye it may be.

She knocks one more time and is about to call it when the door opens. He looks a mess, hair sticking up wildly and eyes red. The bags under them tell her he hasn't been sleeping and she's prays it wasn't because of her. She thought he might be angry. Not...distraught.

He looks her up and down like he's trying to assess her well being. He runs a hand through his hair nervously, “I called the hospital to find you, thinking you were hurt or something and then I realized I don't even know your last name. Or your birthday…”

She doesn't respond, tries to ignore the way her hurt thuds painfully in her chest. She forces a wall in place and he laughs bitterly,

“I'm happy you're okay,” he says stiffly and then let's out a bitter laugh, “I just wished you would have told me something. Even if it was ‘hey Bellamy, I don't want to see you any more.’”

She didn't want to hurt him. Never was that her intention, hell, she made a list of rules to prevent this from happening, but it did anyway. Fuck, she wants nothing more than to crumble in his arms and have him tell her everything will be okay. But it's not fair, to either of them. Not fair to him that he have to spend his time trying to fix something, someone that's broken or to invest himself who can't fully reciprocate. Not when she has to worry about everything else.

So she holds it all in.

“I'm leaving,” she tells him flatly. It scares her, how her voice sounds so hollow. Like the flame within her has been extinguished. In a way, it feels like it has.

He seems taken aback by this, his arms fall to his side and he stands a little straighter,

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

He probably thinks she's known this all along, that's she's springing it on him because she doesn't care. It's best to let him think this way. Any chance they may have had is gone now. She has to be with her dad, she can't let herself worry about relationships especially one that wouldn't work out anyway. Distance never works.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he sighs, running his hand over his face, “You disappear for a week and show up at my door to tell me that?”

She says nothing.

“You don't even care, do you? He laughs bitterly and this is what she expected. He has a right to be angry and she deserves to hear it.

She cares. More than she ever wanted to. More than she should. But she can't tell him that. It'll only make it hurt worse.

“Tell me then,” he says and he grabs a her shoulder forcing her toward him, his hand is gently tilting her chin so she's looking at him, “Tell me you don't care and you can walk away right now. I won't chase you.”

“I don't care.” She tries but even to her she sounds pathetic. Small and unconvincing. Her wall is too transparent.

He leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “I don't believe you.”

He captures her lips in a searing kiss. She doesn't respond at first, willing herself to pull away and stop making things more painful than they already are. But then he wraps his arms around her, cradling her to his chest and she feels safe. She sags into him, twining her arms around his neck.

It all comes back to the idea that she shouldn't do this with him, but she finds herself out of control. With one kiss, he manages to help her forget for a moment. Forget that the next six months will be the hardest of her life. Forget that she's being faced with impossible choices and awful results. And that's what she needs, she decides. She needs to forget and if it means getting to bask in that feeling she had before all this, she'll do it.

He makes love to her that night. She knows it. It's in the way he takes his time feeling her, attentive to every inch of skin, delicate in movement. The way he tries to memorize her, the planes of her back, the dip of her hips, the curve of her ass. He runs his fingertips along the scar on her back bravely, eye locking into hers.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, “Every fucking inch of you.”

It's powerful and it makes her want to break down because she doesn't deserve him and she is just going to break his heart. He deserves the moon and the stars and she can never give it to him.

He tells her how good she feels, how beautiful and amazing and perfect she is. He tells her how much he wants her, he doesn't think about anyone else. Anything else. He tells her how much he cares about her in so many ways and yet avoids telling her that directly so as to protect whatever is left of their initial agreement, thought they both know the agreement has been meaningless for sometime. He's still trying to respect her choices while simultaneously telling her how fucked he is.

She leaves after he's well asleep, after enjoying the last few moments with him. In another life maybe this could have worked. Maybe they could have made the distance happen, maybe they would have failed. She won't know because life is funny sometimes. The timing is wrong, reality is wrong. She's happy to have spent time this bubble with him.

“I love you,” she whispers into the night, happy to get it out there just once even if he can't hear her. It's better that he doesn't.

She doesn't have it in her to cry herself to sleep that night. There are too many battles to come for her to exhaust herself so early. She'll hold on to the feeling, the memories Bellamy has given her for the rest of her life, or at least, when things become overwhelming. She hopes he finds the happiness he so deserves,

She turns her phone off before going to bed,

*

She's on a plane the following day, holding her Father's hand and flying into what will, undoubtedly, be the hardest months of her short life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an angsty bitch what can I say?  
> Come hang on tumblr (bellamysdelinquent.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a 4 part story, part i & ii taking place in the past while part iii. & iv take place in the present (and will contain the roadtrip portion of the story). i will not be posting the next part until the rest of the story is written (which, i'm pretty close to getting done at this point). 
> 
> for a soundtrack reference, Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is an album by the National and played on repeat. It is also where every single title comes from in this story so there's that. 
> 
> find me on tumblr: bellamysdelinquent.tumblr.com


End file.
